


You Say You Want (A Revolution)

by L1av



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angsty Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Codependency, Depressed Hank Anderson, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Needy Connor, Protective Hank Anderson, Revolution Ending, switch Connor, switch Hank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/pseuds/L1av
Summary: The revolution began in Detroit, but it did not end there. Across the globe, androids are fighting for their lives and humans are fighting back. Hank hides Connor away in fear of losing him to the chaos. Connor is faced with a choice. His people? Or Hank?His answer surprises even himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what's going on in this fandom. I've noticed a surge in AUs and yet here I am writing a canon-divergent/compliant fic. #oops
> 
> Anyway, I wrote another fic. Send me recs of non PWP Hankcon or Simkus fic please! (I like ploooot!!) I want to be included. hahahaha
> 
> This'll probably update weekly. Like Scratch did.
> 
> Tags will be updated as story progresses.

 

Connor waits up for Hank. He doesn’t go near the windows. The windows are draped and locked, but he still doesn’t go near the windows. He always turns on the TV when Hank’s this late. He wants to make sure there were no casualties, namely cop casualties. There’ve been more than a few and Connor is always terrified that the next one will be Hank. There are no cop casualties tonight. The fighting has been mostly restricted to south Detroit. Connor wants to check the windows to see if Hank’s car is coming. He’s too afraid to get near the windows.

Patrols scour the city. There are building raids, homes set on fire to “smoke androids out.” The Revolution has gone so, so wrong. Markus hadn’t wanted this. He’d wanted peace. He’d been backed into a corner and when he’d seen his people be mowed down, himself at the forefront—everything changed. He spoke of no more mutual understanding. No more peaceful protests. He’d been out for blood. He’s spilled so much blood now. Blue and red. Connor just wants the fighting to end, but if Markus loses, Connor will die.

The recall centers are still out there, churning and churning as they try to dwindle down android numbers. Markus attacks them as much as he can. He saves some. He loses others. Connor doesn’t want to die like that. Connor doesn’t want to die.

“Garage door open,” says the security system Hank installed when he’d smuggled Connor into his home.

Connor flies off the couch and into the hallway. Hank is putting his coat up. His face is tired. Connor scans him and finds he’s lost three pounds. Hank isn’t trying to lose weight. He’s losing weight from this revolution—the stress—the obligation.

“You know you don’t have to harbor me,” Connor says. “I can leave.”

“Fuck you.” Hank doesn’t say it unpleasantly. He says it in the way he says he doesn’t want to go for a walk or eat his vegetables. He brushes by Connor and into the living room where he stays there, standing. He’s so tense, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. He watches the nightly news. “This fucking revolution.” He spits the word out like it’s dirty. “All because you woke up.”

Connor feels guilty for waking up. But he knows Hank doesn’t mean it’s the androids’ fault. Connor knows how Hank feels toward androids now. Hank helps take androids to the river into Canada. He spills police activity to Markus. He’s helping. His help has been invaluable. The humans will kill him if they find out. Traitor, they’d say.

“I stayed away from the windows as you asked. I didn’t turn the lights on. You were just late and I was scared. I thought,” he winces, “I thought you’d been hurt.”

“We got pinned down. I’m fine.” Hank pulls Connor into a hug. He does that a lot now. When he pulls back, he cups Connor’s face and looks at the glowing yellow of Connor’s LED. “Take that off.”

“No.”

Hank scoffs and pulls away.

Connor doesn’t want to hide his identity. He’s hid enough. He sometimes sneaks out to the grocery (never when Hank is home) and tries to hear what people are saying. He knows it’s a risk. There are other models like him out there. He’s not like Markus. He’s not unique. Except the whole world knows Markus’ face. Connor feels like he’d be giving up a part of himself if he yanked the LED off. He does fear the day Hank’s police status doesn’t exempt his home from searches. It hasn’t happened yet. Hank’s home has been safe, but one day the world will grow too suspicious and the humans will eat themselves from the inside out.

“Hungry?” Connor asks. “I could make you something.”

Hank sits down in front of the television. “A beer. Just get me a beer.”

Connor used to worry a lot about Hank’s drinking. He still worries, but a lot less. He understands why Hank drinks now. Hank is out there risking his life as a police officer and as part of the rebellion. He deserves all the alcohol Connor can fetch him from the kitchen.

Connor comes back and sits beside Hank. He rests his thigh against Hank’s because he likes the warmth Hank’s body provides. He also likes just being close. Hank is comfort and stability. Connor doesn’t know family, but he knows Hank.

“Fucking Christ.” Hank takes a long slug of his beer. He nearly completes it in one go.

Connor waits.

“Androids are pouring in from all over the country. Revolts all over the world. I can’t believe this shit.”

“Conflict breeds conflict,” Connor says. He’d watched an old movie with the line. An android superhero spoke it—Vision is Connor’s favorite superhero because he’s like him and not just because he’s an android. He’s awkward, young and doesn’t understand the cultural references or societal cues. Connor relates to that.

“They should’ve just listened to Markus.” Hank sighs and gulps the rest of his beer down. He stares at the TV like he’s lost all hope for the world. Maybe he’s right and the world is lost.

Connor gets him another beer.

“How’s work?” Connor wants to bring some kind of normalcy back into their regimen. Not that they’ve ever had normalcy. Connor moved in because his alternative was to stay with Markus and hope for the best and Hank had not been okay with that.

Hank grunts. “Fine. I didn’t get shot at today, so fine.”

“Today.” Connor knows if he had a stomach, it would be dropping right now. He can feel a heavy weight in his middle.

“I’ll be okay, Con.” Hank pets Connor on the head and Connor leans into him. “They don’t let me go to the front lines and they’re trying to keep us far from the fighting. We’ve got a city to help protect.”

Connor curls up into Hank’s chest. Hank often gets—strange—about Connor’s affections. Connor just doesn’t know how else to explain how much he appreciates Hank. His whole world is this tiny house and Hank’s smile. Though that smile hardly ever comes to visit.

Hank tenses but he doesn’t pull away. He does what he always does. He makes a grumbling sound that Connor feels against his face and he puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder. They don’t move, they don’t speak. They just—sit there—listening to the horrors on the news.

Connor feels safe like this. He only feels safe when Hank is there.

* * *

Connor hears a bomb go off. He feels the tremors in the earth. He goes into Hank’s room and opens the blinds just a sliver. He cups his hand over his LED in case anyone is out there watching. He sees smoke and an orange glow on the horizon.

“It’s okay,” Hank says. “Markus is trying to create some space between himself and the military.”

“What happens when the military decides this city and its inhabitants aren’t as important as killing off the androids inside it?” It’s a very real possibility to Connor. Detroit isn’t the whole country, it’s not even a fraction of the world. It’s so insignificant on a globalized scale, he’s marveled that America hasn’t just nuked its own city. But maybe that’s why. The social fallout from killing human civilians would be far worse than killing the androids—even if it would get all the ones fighting here.

Though who’s to say another city wouldn’t just pick up the fight. Androids have created war in this country. They’re everywhere now, states, cities, little tiny rural towns with nothing but a gas station and a beauty parlor. The recall centers are just as prevalent. The government is fighting back. But it’s not like the wars of old. It’s dirty and full of guerilla warfare. The androids are impossible to infiltrate regarding their communications. The humans, they’ve been compromised more than a few times. But their numbers are just as large as the androids, if not more. And they keep coming.

Another bomb goes off and it shakes the windows. Connor steps away from the window and looks to the bed. Hank is sitting up, his arms crossed. He’s got his gaze trained on Connor.

“I’ll get away from the windows.” Connor takes a few steps toward the door.

“Stay in here tonight.”

Connor looks at Hank, eyes wide and curious. “What?”

“I don’t want you out there alone. Stay in here tonight. We can—we can share the bed.” Hank coughs and moves over. He tosses the sheets down and smacks his hand on the bed a few times.

Connor feels it’d be impolite to decline, and he’d prefer to be closer to Hank anyway. The sheets are warm like Hank. They smell like Hank. Connor rests his head on the pillow and stares up at the sky.

“Are we safe?” Connor asks.

“Yes.”

“Is Markus safe?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you want me here?”

Hank sits up and stares down at Connor, his mouth slack jaw. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

Connor doesn’t feel like he’s being a dumbass. He just worries he’s taken advantage of Hank’s kindness. For all the grizzled nature Hank displays, he’s the softest person Connor knows. Not that Connor knows many humans. But from what the world is doing to his people now, having an understanding human like Hank makes him far kinder than the ones who wield guns and operate the recall centers.

Connor scoots closer to Hank so their arms touch. He taps his foot on Hank’s.

“What’re you doing?” Hank asks.

“I just—I like knowing you’re there.”

There’s a long silence and Connor worries he’s upset Hank.

Hank takes Connor’s hand and heaves a giant sigh. “We’ll get through this, Con. I promise.”

* * *

Connor doesn’t like just staying hidden. It’s too safe—but it’s a false safe. The kind where you get too comfortable and then the jaws of surprise bite you, tearing into surprised flesh. Connor doesn’t want to be too comfortable. He doesn’t want to be safe. He wants to be proactive. He just doesn’t know how to tell Hank. There’s a unique way in which Hank can take a conversation and grind it to a halt.

Connor watches Hank toe out of his shoes. His jacket is spotted with raindrops, hair slightly frizzy from the humidity outside. He comes home so tired. He sways heavily on his feet and walks passed Connor. The couch groans beneath him and he turns on the TV like he does every night. Even Connor finds himself distracted by the stories the nightly news displays.

Instead of mustering up the courage, Connor just admits defeat. He doesn’t want to disappoint Hank. He’s done so much, sheltering him, sneaking in blue blood and spare parts in the event Connor will need them. Connor cannot repay that kindness. So the next best thing is to try to keep quiet. But he hates feeling so safe when he knows Hank risks his own life.

“Everything went well today?” Connor asks.

“As it could. It almost felt normal.”

“How so?” Connor sits beside Hank and Sumo rests his big head on Connor’s knee.

“We just did our jobs. City’s hemorrhaging in population with the revolution bein’ so close, but we had officers on traffic duty and I even arrested a guy for discharging a weapon in his front yard.” Hank snorts. “Bastard was drunk.”

“Hemorrhaging?”

“Leaving. Gettin’ outta dodge. The midnight train to nowhere.”

Connor feels a tiny smile on his lips.

“It was nice, for a moment.” Hank looks over at Connor with his sad eyes. They’re dulled over and darker than the day they’d met. Connor wishes he could bring light back into those eyes. “I got to pretend that if you walk outside, you won’t be killed on sight.”

Connor stops smiling. “Why do you care so much, Lieutenant? I mean, I know we’re friends, but what did I do to deserve your friendship?”

Hank lays back on the sofa, his gaze staring up at the ceiling. His beard is unkempt, silver hairs glinting along his neck from the blue glow of the TV. “I guess there’s something endearing about you.”

Connor’s’ smile returns to his face. “Thank you. I like you for your honesty and soft nature despite your eccentricities.”

“Aw, Con.” Hank smacks a hand against his face. “Why you gotta make it weird?” He stands up and gets himself a beer from the kitchen.

Connor curls up on the couch. There’s a warm thrill in the base of his stomach as he watches Hank come back.

Hank plops down beside him, gulping down his beer. He’d brought two over.

“I wish I could drink with you.” Connor takes one of the bottles and analyzes its components. “I wish I could eat.”

Hank snatches the bottle and cracks it open. “I’ll just drink for both of us.”

Connor gets lost in his surroundings. The TV drones on about the horrors of the world, namely south Detroit and the android riots across the globe. His toes are tucked beneath Hank’s thigh and neither of them move. Sumo is snoring away on the floor. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost normal.

“I wish they saw us as people,” Connor finally says. “I am a person. Right?” He looks over to Hank with pleading eyes. He blinks, his lashes wet.

“Of course you are.” The way Hank says it, it’s so absolute and sure. But Connor’s not sure. He looks human, talks human, acts human. He’s not. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to go for a walk to the park with Hank or run to the grocery without covering his head.

“I should just pull this off.” He reaches up to the LED but Hank snatches his hand away. Connor startles. Hank is close, breathing hard and his face is gruff, determined. Connor winces. “It’d be easier.”

“No. Don’t you hide who you are.”

The world has changed so much, Hank and Connor along with it.

* * *

Markus stands in the middle of Hank’s living room. His arm is bleeding, blue blood dropping to the rug. Connor will have to clean that eventually. The energy around them is tense. Hank’s in his closet getting a hidden away stash of blue blood for Markus. Simon stands close to the window and watches the police drive slowly by.

“You should sit down,” Connor says to Simon. “It’s safe here. Cops don’t bother other cops.”

Simon frowns. He looks outside one more time, his fingers pulling back a sliver of the curtain and then he comes to sit beside Connor on the sofa. “Sorry. I just wanted to be sure no one followed us.”

“No one did.” Markus looks at his arm and cringes.

Hank comes back into the room. His face is flushed and he’s breathing hard. Connor suspects he should organize the closet so Hank can actually find anything. Then again, the chaos helps should anyone come searching inside.

“Here.” He hands the blue blood over to Markus and goes over to the window where Simon had been to look around. “Anyone follow you?”

“We already covered this.” Connor stands up and looks between everyone. “What happened?”

Simon sighs, he stares at his feet, but he offers up nothing else.

Connor looks to Markus instead.

“We got pinned down trying to make a parts run. They knew where we were going to be.” Markus gulps down the blue blood loudly. He wipes at his mouth with his sleeve. “I think we’ve got a mole.”

“Why would any of us betray our own people?” Simon says, flabbergasted.

Hank shrugs, a rumbling sound emits from his chest. “Humans have a long list of crossing each other for self-gain. Wouldn’t surprise me if some android got a deal for himself.”

Connor looks at Hank, a sudden realization trickles into his mind. Hank is betraying humanity by harboring androids. So is Rose. Logically, it makes sense that an android would betray their own kind just like any human.

“I can help.” Connor stands up and realizes no one has tried to pull him back down or immediately toss the idea away. He looks at Hank and sees sad eyes and a thin line of a mouth. “I’m good at investigation. I could find the mole.”

Markus looks to Hank and it fills Connor with a pressure deep in his gut. He doesn’t like that Markus assumes Hank is the one with the final say. Connor is owned by no one. He cares for Hank, he respects Hank and he adores their friendship, but he does not belong to Hank.

“I said I could find the mole.”

Hank doesn’t make eye contact with Markus and it’s something that immediately quells Connor’s anger. Hank knows Connor belongs to no one. The elation that fills Connor makes him feel as if he could fall into the sky.

“Connor—it’s not that I don’t believe you. I know you can. But we need you with Hank too.” Markus is careful in his phrasing. He makes it sound like Connor is of use here when Connor knows full well his talents are wasted in hiding.

He’d agreed because Hank had been so scared for him.

“I’m not a flower. I’m designed to track down targets and eliminate them. I’m more than capable. Certainly more than PL600.”

Simon shrinks back and Markus moves close to him. Their intimacy doesn’t go unnoticed and Connor fills up with guilt.

“I’m sorry, Simon. I just want to be useful.”

Markus brushes his lips against Simon’s temple and smiles at Connor. It’s not friendly, it’s not even kind. It’s the kind of smile you make when you want to move past a moment and get to another. Forget and move on, but everyone knows that no one really forgets.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, Connor.” Simon’s words are sharp. He refuses to look up. Connor would think he’s being overdramatic but Connor did just insult Simon’s entirety.

“I don’t understand why I’m needed here.” Connor decides to move past the moment just like Markus has. He looks over at Hank, there’s nothing in his face but the need to sleep. Connor thinks he’ll cook Hank a simple meal tonight and send him to bed with some drops of lavender on his pillow to help him relax. Connor’s belly tingles and something yanks inside. He clutches his stomach. The sensation isn’t unpleasant—just strong. He likes taking care of Hank.

“If you want to help,” Markus says, “then be at this location tomorrow.” Markus puts his hand in the air and the skin recedes back. Connor takes his hand and they exchange the location. “I’ll brief you. But it’s dangerous, Connor. You could die and then there’s no coming back. Not even for you.”

Connor looks at Hank again. There’s a deep scowl on his face and his arms are crossed. Connor remembers the day he died, taking a bullet for Hank. Hank had been so upset when he saw him again. If he died this time, he wonders if Hank would be upset—or something else.

“I want to help my people, Markus. I have every right.”

Markus looks to Hank again. He quirks a brow Connor’s way and then sighs. “Fine.” He stands up and Simon slinks away from him.

Connor notices how Simon doesn’t look at Connor’s face.

“Be safe, Connor.” Markus gives him a squeeze on the shoulder and then the pair goes out the back door.

“I feel like I only saw half of that conversation. I’d like to know why, Lieutenant.” Connor stands there in the middle of the living room. The records are stacked neatly from when Connor grew bored and alphabetized them. The room smells of orange from when Connor decided to give it a good sprucing up and wash the floorboards. He’s not a PL600. He wasn’t designed for housework. He was designed for grueling tasks, efficient optimization. Problem-solving. Endurance. Power. He’s not a maid. He could be so much more.

“You have every right to help your people.” Hank’s voice is low. There’s no fight in him.

Connor turns and Hank is leaning over himself, silver hair obstructing his face.

“But?” Connor tries to prod. He’s rewarded with a long bout of silence. The room grows darker, the silence stings Connor’s ears. He kneels in front of Hank and says again, “But?”

Hank’s only response is a sad smile and a pat on Connor’s shoulder. He moves past Connor and into the kitchen where he’ll most likely fetch himself a beer and then another. And then another.

Connor will watch him ruin his liver and bring himself into an early grave where Connor will then lose his best friend. The thought burns inside Connor and squeezes saline tears from his eyes. He blinks them away before they can fall. “I’m going to cook you something.” He doesn’t care to wait to hear if Hank will protest it or not.

* * *

Connor doesn’t like nighttime. He sees the red and blue lights beyond the thick curtains Hank put up. They’re supposed to be black-out curtains, but Connor thinks the manufacturer lied. He hears the sirens and the distant echoes of gunshots. Hank’s meal has been cooked, the lavender has been sprinkled on his pillow. Connor even lit a candle for him to breathe in deep and be lulled to sleep.

Connor will not be sleeping. There’s a disconnect now. Connor tried to hug Hank before they went their separate ways for bed, but Hank had put his hand out and shook his head. He claimed he was just too tired. Connor knows that to be a lie. Hank has always tolerated Connor’s excessive affection. Something has wedged between them now. It pushes them apart and only makes Connor feel more and more on edge. His fingers tremble, his thirium pump speeds up and he has the strangest sensation that he’ll actually collapse and spew blue blood from his lips with how violently everything churns inside him. He can’t take it anymore. He jumps from the couch and quietly sneaks the door to Hank’s room open.

Hank is on the bed, covers surrounding him, a light snore from his mouth. His right foot is peeking out from beneath the blankets.

Connor sneaks into the room and sits beside Hank’s bed. He presses his head back and feels like he’s losing a part of himself. This distance, he can’t take it. Something happened in that room when he said he wanted to help. And why shouldn’t he get to? They are his people too! Hank. Markus. Simon. Everyone. Why do they get to put their lives on the line and Connor gets to hide away in safety? Where is the fairness in that? Connor knows the risks and he’s willing to pay them if he must.

Hank’s hand drops on his head. Connor gingerly moves aside to let it dangle. He stares at Hank’s hand and sees the tiny indent around his ring finger, how the color isn’t exactly the same as the rest of his skin. Someone has left Hank before. He lost his son to death. Connor had died in his arms and Hank had been angry when he saw him again.

Connor grinds his teeth together. If he left Hank, he’d just be another name in a list of names that have abandoned him—by choice or by circumstance. He sighs, wishing that things were simpler. That the world hadn’t fought back when androids said they were alive. Is it really so horrible? Androids don’t want to fight. They just want to live. A tiger will lash out in aggression if it’s cornered, but it’s only because it wants to survive. Connor wants his people to survive. He wants to survive.

Connor stays there through the night. On the floor, his head tilted forward in sleep mode. Next to Hank’s hand with its tiny reminder that someone had loved him once—only to leave him.

* * *

When Connor wakes, Hank isn’t in the room. The clock says it’s nearly ten in the morning. Connor stands up and runs a diagnostic to make sure everything is awake and working. He exits the bedroom and finds Hank gone. There’s a note on the kitchen table.

When I get back, I think we should talk.

Connor has long since cut his connection off with the internet. He wishes he could research we should talk. He knows he’s heard it in movies before and it’s never been good. He doesn’t know what to do while Hank is gone. He doesn’t even know if Hank has run an errand or if he’s gone into work.

Connor gives him a call, but he doesn’t pick up. He leaves a message indicating he’d received the letter and admits it’s left him quite nervous. He asks to be called back and then he’s left to his own devices again. In a house that he’s cleaned so much he’s not sure he can clean it any better.

He snuggles up to Sumo and pouts, staring at the black screen of the television. He can see his muddled reflection oozing into Sumo’s fluff. It’s only been three minutes. It feels like three lifetimes.

He goes into sleep mode because he can’t stand the thought of being conscious right now.

* * *

Connor wakes to Hank gently stirring him. He blinks up at Hank’s tiny smile—though it’s not the kind that Connor wishes he’d see. It’s not the smile that Hank gave him when they thought things would get better at Hank’s favorite food joint. He misses that little smirk.

“You slept on the floor.”

Connor stretches because it feels good. He realizes Sumo has long since dropped from the couch and went to his little spot on the floor.

“Are you angry with me?” Connor asks. He doesn’t want Hank to be angry. The thought fills him up with dread and readies tears in his ducts.

“No.” Hank tucks a flyaway hair back into place atop Connor’s head. “I’m just—scared.”

“Why?” Connor grabs Hank’s hand and doesn’t let go.

Hank looks between his hand and Connor’s pleading face and sighs. Good, Connor thinks. He’s accepted that Connor needs touch right now. Connor is always so frantic for Hank’s touch.

“I can’t lose you too.” Hank drops his head against the couch seat. He’s on the floor just like Connor had been the night before.

“I’m efficient, Hank we know this. I’ve never let you down before.”

“That has nothing to do with this. And arguably, you were crap at putting your mission first.”

Connor smirks.

A siren howls outside. They both pause and wait to find out what would happen next. The siren’s howl grows further and further muted before they’re both left in silence again. Nothing but the lazy whoosh of Hank’s central air.

“I put you first,” Connor says honestly. He’d prioritized the life of Hank Anderson over the mission. It was a common occurrence that Amanda had hated. But Connor always rationalized it with Hank being his partner and that without Hank, there’d be no mission. It wasn’t until Connor woke up that he really understood why.

Hank is Connor’s whole world. How he wants to interpret that, he’s not sure. But Hank is everything that humanity should be, a little imperfect and sometimes grossly out of line but well-meaning and kind. Someone who can admit when they are wrong and change from it. Hank is Connor’s inspiration. But again, what Connor does with any of that—he doesn’t know.

“If you go out there, I can’t always protect you. And I know—don’t give me that face—I know you don’t need my protection. But, it’s felt good to feel like you did.” Hank doesn’t meet Connor’s gaze. “I got used to coming home to someone again.”

Something tugs at Connor’s chest and he has to put his hand over his thirium pump to make the ache stop. Hank, for all his size, is small and vulnerable and Connor wants nothing more than to hold him. Hank has protected Connor, even when he didn’t like him.

Connor tugs on Hank’s hand and pulls him up onto the couch. He wraps his arms around Hank and presses his face into Hank’s neck.

Hank inhales sharply but he relaxes into the cocoon Connor’s become around him, ankles hooked and fingers threaded.

Connor doesn’t know what to say. Hank doesn’t do this—vulnerability—but he’s done it now, and Connor can’t find anything to say that would rise to the same level. He’s so conflicted, wandering around existence and trying to find where he belongs. His people need him. But so does Hank. Connor feels like he’s on two platforms that are moving away from each other. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to make a chose, lest he loses balance and tumbles down into darkness.

“Just be safe,” Hank says. There’s finality behind his tone and it squeezes in Connor’s chest. Those platforms are moving faster now and Connor is frantic to find a way to hold them together. His people. Hank. His people. Hank. His people. Hank.

Hank.

Hank.

Connor feels tears slip from his eyes. He clings to Hank and whispers, “I don’t wanna go.”

Hank squeezes his arms around Connor and it’s the best damn feeling Connor’s ever felt in his life. It’s happiness, a rush of belonging and the scent of pine and sandalwood. It’s Hank’s beard tickling his forehead and his nose pressed into Hank’s neck. It’s a hook around his heart—his heart because it may be called something else, but it beats all the same—and it’s tugging, tugging so violently that Connor mewls from the ache.

Hank cups the back of Connor’s head and Connor cries openly. He watches Hank’s platform fade into the distance. Duty and sacrifice. The many over the one. Connor doesn’t want to go. But he must. This is so much greater than them or the confusion that Connor feels inside regarding Hank. There is only one world and humans and androids can’t go anywhere else. His people die by the thousands in the recall centers. Markus risks life and limb. Hank prays for a future where Connor can step outside and be himself with his stupid LED shining proudly. This is so far greater than them.

But Connor wants to hold on just a little bit more.

* * *

Connor meets Markus where they’d agreed. He’s wearing one of Hank’s jackets and it’s too big for his slender shoulders but it helps him blend into the darkness around him. He’s got his cap snug on his head. He stays vigilant, waiting for Markus to appear.

Josh and Markus come out of the shadows and Josh smiles wide. Markus’s face is stern. He’s seen too much pain to have much joy.

“Let’s get you briefed up, huh?” Markus says.

“Does Simon hate me?” Connor asks.

Markus snorts. “No. He could never hate anyone.”

They travel by sewer out into the countryside where they go into a dilapidated farmhouse that appears to be held up by toothpicks. Markus opens the basement door and it creaks loudly and shows off steel stairs and a red glow down below.

The bunker is small, but it was designed during the Cold War. It’s a good spot to hide for now but Connor does believe it’s a bit too far from Detroit to be viable long-term. He does note that there’s no way Markus can keep an entire revolution in a tiny bunker like this.

“Where’re North and Simon?” he asks.

“We all stay split up when we retreat and regroup. I’ve got my troops and they’ve got theirs.”

It’s so militarized that Connor finds himself uncomfortable. What else did he expect though? Androids are fighting for their right to live and they’ve been met with deadly force and tanks in the streets. What was Markus supposed to do?

“We’re staying isolated from each other in the hopes that we can compartmentalize our goals and missions, that way the mole has a harder time figuring out the full picture and we can isolate which troop the mole is in.”

“Smart,” Connor says.

“Speaking of,” Josh gives Connor’s shoulder a squeeze and then starts for the stairs, “welcome to the team.”

“I thought he died the first night of the revolution?” Connor asks when Josh is gone and the door above is closed.

“He did. His memory was undamaged so we restored all his parts when we could fetch his body. Theoretically, we can’t die, Connor. That’s what makes us superior.”

Connor frowns. He doesn’t think it’s that easy a comparison. He also doesn’t like that Markus believes he’s superior to humans—to Hank.

“Our memory corrodes over time and each time we’re brought back online, we get a huge corrosion shock to the memory cores due to power surges. I know this from personal experience.” Connor can barely see the moments before he died. It’s spotty and grainy. He can just make out a blinding overhead light and Hank’s worried face. He misses Hank terribly.

“Josh is fine. So’re you.”

“Debatable.” Connor smirks.

“You’re a handful.” Markus goes over to a table and picks up a tablet. “It’s an old thing but it gets the job done. Here.”

Connor scans the information. He knows where each “general” (he supposes that’s what Markus, Josh and the rest are now) is located and he sees where troops are asked to regroup, retreat and push forward at.

“Only I know the whole picture. Well, and now you.”

Connor knows that puts a giant target on his back. Which is ironically a good thing considering if he knows the full picture, the mole is going to want to know the full picture as well.

“Will it be common knowledge that I know the whole picture?” Connor asks.

“Should it?”

Connor nods.

“Then sure. We can do that.” Markus leans over the table and grabs another tablet. He gives it to Connor. “These are linked into a private VPN that only we have access to. You can use it to communicate with me and the others.”

“Markus?”

Markus waits, his attention on Connor.

“Can I still visit Hank?”

Markus’s smile is sad. He puts his tablet down and leans against the table, arms crossed. “Why do you think I wanted to make sure you wanted to do this?”

He doesn’t want to do this. But instead he says, “I must help our people.”

Markus doesn’t seem entirely convinced. He frowns Connor’s way, his lips scrunched to the side. Markus is a good man, but he’s got a focus. If anything doesn’t’ align with his focus, he doesn’t have much patience for it. Connor walks that line of being in focus and being something Markus doesn’t have the patience for. But Hank is on their side, that should warrant Markus’s attention enough.

“You’ve visited Hank.”

“When I’ve needed help. Connor, he lives deep in Detroit. Do you know how risky it is to get there? It’s best that you just stay with us and rotate around us all on your investigation.”

Connor feels like he’s been punched. He knew this, and yet he’d left Hank’s home anyway. He’d looked up at Hank’s sad eyes, wrapped his arms around Hank’s big shoulders. He’d kissed him on the cheek and he’d said his goodbyes.

Hank had stayed at the front door until Connor could no longer turn around and see him there.

Connor regrets leaving now. But the good of the many over the one. His people are suffering. He can help this end.

“I know how much he means to you,” Markus says, “but you made the right choice.”

Connor isn’t so sure.

* * *

Connor has done his best to focus on the mission. He gets caravanned from location to location, he speaks to people and interviews them. He reviews pasts, goals and even watches from the sidelines when there are breaks from the fighting. Markus doesn’t like it when Connor gets too close to the action. He says it’s because Connor is too valuable. Connor hopes he’s not coddling him. Connor is more efficient of a killing machine than even Markus is and they’re both from the RK series.

“Hey stranger,” a soothing voice says.

Connor looks up from his perch to see an AX400 model. He recognizes her by her hair immediately. Kara. Connor had helped save her from the recall center along with the YK500 model, Alice. It’s ironic that Connor had once been tasked with chasing Kara down as a deviant.

“It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Connor says. He looks back over the crowd of androids. He knows from his studies and rabbit holes on internet search quests that when humans have breaks from war, they try to do everything to boost morale. Dances. Drinking. Girls in sexy outfits.  Androids can’t drink. The physical attributes of a person or their clothes don’t appeal to androids as much as the person beneath the skin. But dances. Connor could go for a dance. The room is so tense.

“Do you like music?” Connor asks.

“I haven’t—really listened to any.”

“Hank has this record I listen to all the time. It’s this soft jazzy tune with something plucking at a cello. It makes me happy.” He wraps his arms around his stomach when it aches at Hank’s memory. He’s tried to call, but Hank never picks up. Connor doesn’t know what to make of that, only that it hurts.

“You should play it for us. I think we need something happy.”

Connor wants to, but he doesn’t know how he’d get it.

“How’re you and Alice? Oh, and Luther? Luther, right?”

“We’re very good. Luther’s been great with Alice. We’re like—a little family.”

Connor thinks about Hank again. Hank was Connor’s family. Now Connor is all alone.

“I just wanted to say hi and see how you’re doing. It’s good to see you again.” Kara gives Connor a quick hug and Connor hates how much it doesn’t feel like the hugs he’d get from Hank. Kara is smaller, her body cooler. Connor misses Hank’s warmth. His big hands and his beard. Connor clutches at his throat when he feels it squeeze. Everything hurts.

The biggest lie CyberLife ever told was that it programmed androids to say they couldn’t feel pain. Lies. Androids feel pain—their pressure systems and sensors pick up when something is too much. They can shut down sensors and redirect them, but when the element of surprise was with the offender—androids did, and do, feel pain.

Connor has no choice but to continue observing the sullen androids around them. They huddle around each other, some whispering. There is no laughter. No sloshing beer or the loud horns of big band music like the movies of old that Connor devoured one after the other at Hank’s house. It unsettles Connor. These androids don’t know how to live. They’re here because they know they have the right to, but what happens when they’re free and they don’t know what to do? Will they stand and just stare then as well?

Connor sends a text to Hank, asking about the record and the ability to play it.

Two days later, Hank finally texts back.

They arrange to meet three days later.

* * *

Connor stands in an alley. He hears the sloshing of the river nearby and the ding of a few tiny boats that make their way through to the ocean. Connor wonders if the boat is carrying people escaping or brave souls who want to see the ruin that Detroit has become. He’s got his cap on, snug over his LED, his hands exposed to the chilly Spring morning. He wears Hank’s jacket more because he misses Hank than because he really needs it. He could turn off his sensors to the cold. He doesn’t though—because it makes him feel alive to know the world around him.

A figure stands on the other side and Connor chokes out a sound that’s more of a sob than a greeting. He runs toward the figure. They collide and arms wrap each other tightly. Connor pushes his face into Hank’s neck and wishes he could just abandon this mess and run away with Hank. Leave Detroit. Leave even America. Just leave. Except—the only country admitting android refugees is Turkey and it’d be impossible to flee America unnoticed.

“I miss you so much,” Connor says into Hank’s neck. He doesn’t want to let go. If he lets go, then their greeting has ended and Hank will give him the record and then they’ll be leaving each other because it’s dangerous out here. Dangerous for Hank to be found with an android and dangerous for Connor because he’ll just be killed.

“Miss you too.” Hank’s the first one to pull away. He clears his throat and offers out the record and the portable player so Connor can bring some music to the androids. “Keeping safe?”

“Markus doesn’t let me get too close to the front lines. I’m always being transported when anything bad happens. I’m just fine.” More like a caged bird, but he won’t get into that right now. “Are you?”

“Yeah. S’a good thing you left when you did. Our neighborhood got scanned. Didn’t matter if I was a cop or not.”

“Did they find anything?”

“No. The guy searching me’s known me since I hated you guys. He didn’t even open the bedroom door.” He just scanned for android heat signatures, we had a cup of coffee and he left.”

“Good. Hank, you shouldn’t keep any blue blood or supplies for us there. You could get in serious trouble.”

Hank puts his hands up, cutting Connor off. “I’m doin’ what I’m doin.’ Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you.”

Hank looks at his feet, a soft chuckle leaves his lips. “I’ve missed your nagging.”

Connor wants nothing more than to drop to his knees, wrap his arms around Hank’s legs and plead to be allowed back home. Home. Because Hank is home. Hank is family and safety. Hank is stability and a constant in Connor’s life and everything he’s doing now is just a series of prayers, surprises and unknowns.

He bites his lip because he’s afraid. Hank is watching him, waiting for him to begin saying goodbye but Connor isn’t ready for that. Connor isn’t ready to wonder if he’ll never see Hank again. He wants this moment to last eternally. But Connor plunges forward. Time stops for no one.

“Hank, am I family?”

“Of course you are.” Hank’s hands come to rest on both sides of Connor’s face. It rushes Connor with warmth and his eyes flutter.

“I want to come home.” Connor’s voice is broken. Tears slip from his eyes that rough finger pads catch. “I hate being away from you.”

Hank pulls Connor into a hug and rocks him.

Connor just cries. It’s awful. He’s awful. His people are dying in recall centers, on the streets, people who just want to live and find their place in the world and all Connor can think about is just how much he misses seeing Hank’s tired face every night. How selfish of him. How dare he? His people need him and despite how everyone treats him, he’s not made of glass. He’s titanium—literally. His frame is reinforced to be unbendable, unbreakable. His mind has three different backup processors and two memory cores because whoever designed him knew he faced death. Connor is the closest thing to a true immortal, even for android standards. He should be on the front lines. He should be focused on finding the mole.

But he’s here. Crying into Hank’s shoulder and begging to be able to come home. And Hank? Hank just holds him. But he says nothing. And that hurts even more than the traitorous thoughts that permeate Connor’s mind. Hank won’t let him come home. Hank knows duty and sacrifice more than Connor. He’s had to do it before himself. It is vastly unfair and downright disgusting that Connor beg him like this. That he cries like this. Connor sometimes wishes he could just listen to his programming—that he’d just be a pretty, complacent machine again. These feelings, the emotions—they’re too much for him and he feels like he’s dying.

Connor pulls away and wipes his face. He doesn’t look at Hank’s face. If he does, he’ll shatter. “Thank you for the record. I’m sure it’ll bring the androids some hope.”

“Con—”

“I said thank you. I have to go now.” Connor still doesn’t look at Hank’s face. With each step, his heart breaks. His mind crumbles. He feels like vines are snaking from the ground and wrapping around his legs to hold him from walking. He presses onward. Step left, step right, step left, step right. Don’t turn around, don’t think about Hank, don’t look, don’t turn, don’t stop, focus on the mission.

“Be safe, okay!” Hank yells over.

Connor stops. Tears make their way down his face and he realizes now the connection he has with Hank isn’t just as simple as he thought. He loves him. He loves him so much that the world is black and white without him. It’s not worth existing if Hank isn’t there too. Connor’s fingers shake as they clutch the record player. He looks down at it and then, he can’t take it anymore. He looks back at Hank.

He’s standing there, all alone with his collar up straight around at his ears. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he’s smiling—smiling through streaks of tears on his face and a reddened nose.

Connor audibly sobs and turns back around. His people need him. He needs to bring them happiness and hope. He needs to rekindle the fire for why they fight. He’s needed so much more than just to find the mole. Markus has hardened. He’s not the heart of this rebellion anymore. He’s the sword. Someone needs to remind the androids that they deserve love—life—and a home to go back to. That they all deserve something as important as Hank is to Connor.

Connor just prays when this is over, if it’ll ever be over, that he can come home to Hank.

* * *

Connor sits in a maintenance truck. He’s got his tablet with him, his legs crossed neatly, a pleasant up-curl of his lips. North is sitting across from him. Her hair sways as the truck presses onward. They’re making an exchange of Markus’s orders. Connor will catalog everyone present and then he will see what happens next. That’s the problem with his investigation. He relies so much on what happens next.

The truck stops and they disembark. Markus is with Simon. Simon glares at Connor. So he can, in fact, hate someone. Markus fails to see Simon’s true thoughts sometimes. But who can blame him when the fate of his species rests in his hands? Connor certainly won’t. He’s glad they have each other though. Their relationship is mostly shrouded and Connor isn’t sure if most know about it. He’s sure North and Josh are aware—but the rest of the androids. Markus doesn’t show affection openly, especially in front of anyone but his small group of generals.

Generals. They earned no stars. But Connor doesn’t know what else to call them. They fight a war and they organize the androids. What else are they but generals now?

“Good. Everyone’s here.” Markus begins to explain the fake plan. Fake—because he and Markus had created it to lure out the mole. It’s taken time for Connor to get settled in his preliminary investigations, but with careful treading, he’d convinced Markus this is what was needed. They need to be sure the head is safe before Connor investigates the body.

Markus explains how his team and Simon’s will circle around the human military outfit and North and her team will come from the river. Josh will take his people into the city and assist them in fleeing up to Canada. Josh’s teams are always refugees seeking safe passage to Canada. They’re usually child models and injured androids who can’t fight anymore or who don’t want to fight. That was Josh’s one stipulation for staying with Markus—was that he could take the refugees.

The plan is spoken quickly and with all the seriousness of a real plan. Connor thinks that only Simon knows it’s not a real plan right now. Simon and Markus will not circle around the military, they will follow both Josh and North’s teams with reinforcements lest someone gets hurt. Connor doesn’t like gambling with lives, but he’s not sure how to find out if their leadership is compromised or not without gambling like this. As long as no one is compromised, then they are all safe and none of them is the mole.

Connor does hope they’re all honest. It’d be a terrible blow to morale if one of their own leadership was acting as a traitor.

When they’re finished, Markus and Simon walk with Connor. He’s going to be staying with them for the duration of the false mission. All it does is make him jealous. Markus sneaks kisses from Simon and Simon happily gives them back.

Connor has never kissed Hank—at least not like this. He’s kissed Hank goodbye—but that wasn’t anything more than showing him how much Hank means to him. Family. Home. It wasn’t a profession of love or even remotely romantic.

Simon keeps sneaking glances over at Connor. He has every right to be upset with Connor, and for that, Connor doesn’t hold it against him when he gets a bit more handsy with Markus in the truck than what they’d been doing before.

Connor just closes his eyes and thinks about Hank—tears on his face. That red nose. Hank has never cried in front of Connor. But he’d silently cried when they’d departed each other. This damn revolution. It would almost be better if androids just pretended they weren’t alive—but then where would that get them? They’d be living in a nightmare of unfair treatment and abuse. Connor wouldn’t have the freedom to even see Hank because he’d still be owned by CyberLife.

“You doing okay, Connor?” Markus asks.

“Fine. Thanks.” Connor doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see someone’s happiness when he’s lost all his. Selfish, but at least Connor is honest with himself.

“Do you really think North or Josh could be the mole?”

“No. But I have to be sure.”

Markus nods before wrapping a single arm around Simon’s shoulders. They press their heads together and Markus closes his eyes.

Simon stares at Connor, his face almost unreadable but Connor is perceptive. Sadness. Worry. Simon closes his eyes and Connor is left to his own devices.

* * *

Josh reports back that he’s taken a group of refugees across the border and he’s on his way back. North asks where the fight is since she’s crept with her people from the river and can’t progress anymore or they’ll be seen.

“They’re clean,” Connor says. “Now you can sleep easier.”

Markus heaves a big sigh and smiles at Connor, clapping him on the back. “Good. Except now that means someone we respect is doing this. Someone we trust important information to. Connor—I don’t want to be presumptuous but—do you think Hank could—”

“Don’t you dare say another word,” Connor cuts in, his voice trembling. “Hank isn’t a traitor.”

“Except, he is.” Markus shrugs, like this accusation is innocent or acceptable when it is deeply not.

Connor is raging beneath the skin. He can feel heat wafting from his shoulders to his ears.

“He’s betraying his human brethren. That’s a traitor, Connor. What makes you think he won’t double cross us?”

“I won’t help with this investigation if you say another thing about Hank.” Connor shoves out of the room and goes to where androids are all huddled up and hoping to be repaired. Josh does what he can for them but they need to go on more supplies runs and CyberLife stock is getting low. They don’t have organic resources to live like humans. They require only synthetic. It’ll be their doom and extinction if this revolution lasts too long.

They’re out in a giant warehouse in a suburban area outside of Detroit. They’ve blackened out the windows to make sure the place looks abandoned even though it’s buzzing with life. North has her people making distractions on the other side to give this group time to rest. They’re bombing up South Detroit and as much of the military outposts as possible. That’s what they do to survive. Each makes a distraction for the other. Connor doesn’t really think that’s a good way to live.

“We need to help these people get into Canada,” Josh says. “There’s a group there that’s got supplies and plenty of blue blood. They can’t last here much longer.”

Connor looks over the huddled-up group. Some can’t even produce their synthetic skin anymore. There are child models and models missing limbs or eyes. Connor doesn’t even think music can save these people now, but that’s usually when it’s most appropriate. The darkest of times. Connor nods at Josh before heading up to his little bunk. It’s nothing more than a cot in a room full of cots and small personal belongings. He’s careful not to disturb anyone in sleep mode, grabs the record player and the record and returns to Josh and the injured.

“What’re you doing?” Josh asks as he helps tape up someone’s arm to see if it’ll hold the wires in.

“Trying to bring some hope into all this sadness.” For his own sake, and for the androids that mope and sigh in this room.

The jazzy tune crackles into the air. Everyone startles and turns to look at the record player and Connor. He’s standing in the middle of the room, the candles and lanterns illuminating him in a gentle wash of yellow. He bobs his head and smiles, reaching out for a YK500’s hand. She takes it.

They move to the rhythm, though not perfectly. She steps on his feet and he gets tangled when he spins her, but they make it work. Eventually, she steps up onto his toes and he dances them around their little circle.

A few of the other models bob their heads. Some even begin dancing too. A boy model of the YK500 comes up to Connor and taps him to ask to cut in. Connor allows it.

He looks up to see Josh smiling, watching as the room slowly erupts into dance and soft laughter. It’s a moment Connor doesn’t know if he’ll see again—but it’s pure and good. It’s a reminder of why he’s here. He gave up his safety to make sure these people had a chance at life. To smile. To laugh. To love, as he sees two kiss each other soft and slow.

His heart tugs and he wishes Hank were here to see this. Androids without limbs are helped and held close, swung to the tunes and smiles on their faces. Children shout with glee and some even play games like chase and hide-and-seek among the dancing adult models.

The models too weak to dance, they watch with permanently fixed grins, their fingers—if they have them—bobbing to the tune.

“This is really nice, Connor,” Josh says. “Real nice.”

Markus and Simon come to investigate what’s happening. Their eyes round and they both look to Connor who merely shrugs and Josh points to him to say ‘it was all his doing.’

Markus asks for Simon’s hand and together they take the dance floor, swaying and smiling. People clap and form dance circles. One android even comes to ask Josh to dance. Josh, blubbering and blushing, agrees.

Connor is content with this response. They’ve needed it, something good. But he closes his eyes and imagines the only thing that could make him happy.

Hank, taking him in his arms and twirling him around. Bodies close. Hips closer. The tickle of a soft beard and the warmth of breath on Connor’s ear. Soft silver hair that Connor can reach up and touch. Spinning. Spinning. Alive. In love.

He can’t even imagine them kissing. He doesn’t have the slightest bit of a frame of reference for what a kiss would be like. He’s never had one—not on the lips. He’s kissed Hank, only one, only brief. A tiny peck on the cheek that meant nothing but appreciation. No love. Just kindness. A sad goodbye.

Connor wants to dance across the floor with Hank. He wants to burst out in giggles like a few of the androids are now doing at the faster tune on the record player. He wants to feel Hank’s hand on his back and smell the cologne on his skin.

Connor opens his eyes and the longing he feels only pushes its way deeper into his body. He wonders if he has a soul. He thinks he does. He also believes it’s crying. Connor may wear a mask, but his soul cannot—it doesn’t need one anyway. The soul can’t hide from the entity. Connor knows his soul is wailing, cursing every moment he stays here out of obligation to his people.

He wants to go home.

* * *

“Connor! Connor are you there?”

Connor grabs his tablet and says, “Josh? Everything okay?” Markus is helping the injured across the river. It’s cold, but not nearly as cold as it gets in winter. Not all of the ice has melted though.

“We’re getting rounded up. Someone told them where we’d be. I’ve got a group with me but half of them don’t even have legs. I can’t—we’re going to be caught.”

“Where are you?”

“Location four on the map. We’re in one of those maintenance rooms beneath the bridge. I don’t know where Markus is. I think I saw Simon but who knows if he’s okay.”

Connor leaves the safety of his hiding location and runs. He takes a small team, explains the situation and they all grab weapons and pray. Because that’s all they can do. Pray. The androids don’t fight like the armies of old. They stick to shadows and cell attacks. They use their abilities to synch with most technology to confuse the military and send them false information, but then a mole happened—and now that information seems to be verifiable or discredited.

Connor sticks to the shadows. They cross behind military trucks and personnel with the help of throwing rocks or banging on the trucks and sliding beneath and moving away from them. Connor is too focused right now to remember how much he doesn’t want to be here. He’s not made of glass and his people need him.

Connor motions to one of his team to take out a guy walking along the river. He shoots—he takes the guy down. Connor doesn’t like killing, but he understands that if he doesn’t—he’ll be killed. He can’t die without telling Hank how he feels. It’s never occurred to Connor that Hank may not feel the same way, but it’s beginning to whisper in the back of his mind and coil a shiver around his brain that feels like worry. Now isn’t the time.

He finds Josh’s location and sees a boat on the river full of humans in heavy armor. They’re surrounding the door and trying to push it in.

Connor jumps out of hiding. “Hey! Hey this way!”

A few of the military on the boat jump to the other side of the bridge and come at Connor.

Connor hears the gunshots around him as his team opens fire. He takes out his own pistol and runs forward. He dodges the first bullet and gets an elbow into a guy’s face and unloads a bullet into the second guy’s face. He ducks out of the way of a punch and presses the pistol to a belly and pulls the trigger. He makes his way onto the boat, his team providing covering fire while he attacks. He’s focused, systematic and best of all—he’s lethal.

“Josh it’s me!” Connor says, banging on the door. He can see more trucks pulling up and soon there will be too many. “Get this boat up the river way from us and circle back around.”

“But Markus!”

“I’ll get Markus. You just get these people out of here!”

Connor helps people onto the boat and when they’re settled, he turns and runs with the current. Bullets fly by and one hits him in the arm. He spins down and nearly crashes into the water. He catches himself and turns, shooting his pistol at the people behind him. He takes down two but four more are aiming, their red lasers helping assist their shots.

Connor jumps into the water to get the lasers away. The water is icy cold and his body screams at him. Warming: temperatures not adequate for maximum optimization. He wills his body onward. He doesn’t need to breathe so he stays low in the water.

Warning: Critical temperature change. Optimization and mobility compromised. Recommend recalibration.

Connor reaches the other side of the river and comes out. A hail of gunshots erupts around him. North’s people are swooping down upon the river. Someone must’ve called her in. Simon’s on a boat barking orders and his people are climbing out if it and dropping military personnel into the waters below. They land like heavy sacks of potatoes.

Connor thinks it’ll be okay. Josh’s people are back and he’s helping them get across now with the use of a coastguard ship. It makes the journey much quicker and a lot less dangerous. If they kept the boat, it’d be a hard claim to protect. They’ll have to abandon it after this run. It’s infuriating. Their people just want to live and the world asks that they die—no not asks—demands.

Connor looks around, knowing that the only people who knew about this run initially were Josh, Markus and Simon. Josh was proven clean during the first run, Markus is Markus. Simon though.

Connor frowns. He doesn’t want to believe it, but Simon knew the original plan was fake all along. If he was worth anything, he would wait to tell the humans about the next mission. Mowing down a bunch of injured androids would be an easy score and win a lot with the humans in terms of their favor.

Connor stands among the wreckage, sees the bodies in the water, the ones on the shore. Some even he had killed. Connor doesn’t like killing. He doesn’t like conflict. But this is where they are now. He could’ve died tonight. Bullets rained down above him, he heard them enter the water when he swam. His body is cold and some of his functions are shutting down.

He can’t do this. He needs to reset. But not literally—figuratively.

He needs to go see Hank.

* * *

Early Spring feels a lot like the dead of winter. There’s ice on some of the cars as Connor trudges through the streets. He hails a taxi but when he doesn’t have a human heartbeat or temperature signature, the taxi blasts alarms and Connor has to flee.

He goes a few more blocks, ducking and backtracking when he sees patrols. There aren’t enough people out this late at night but Connor knows from his rigid movement that he’d be caught if anyone saw him.

He walks. He hides. He walks. He falls. He crawls. He stops.

His body is too cold. The river has claimed many androids before and there hasn’t been enough heat to warm it up to an acceptable temperature again. Winter is still holding on while Spring tries to fight it off.

He dials Hank’s number.

“Connor? Is everything okay?”

“I’m—I need help.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll turn on my—tracker.”

“Connor—don’t. They’ll find you.”

“I think I’m dying, Hank.” He seldom uses Hank’s name, which is why it’s important he do so now. He needs Hank to understand the severity of the situation.

“You’re not dying. Just turn on your location for a second and then turn it right back off. I’ll find you.”

Connor does just that. He hides beneath garbage and unwanted boxes near a dumpster. The overflow helps cushion him and keep him a steady temperature. He doesn’t think he’s dying, but he knows he’s suffering. His arm has lost a lot of blue blood. He knows Hank used to have some but he’s not certain now.

Hank finds him and sloshes through the garbage to pull his body free. He picks him up, wraps him in an aluminum blanket and sticks him in the back of his car. Connor allows his eyes to flutter closed. The car is warm and his warning alerts are slowing.

They get back to Hank’s house sometime later and Hank picks Connor up and brings him inside.

“I’m gonna draw you a bath. It won’t be hot because we have to work at getting your temperature back up.”

Connor thinks about Hank seeing him naked. He can’t undress himself with how rigid his body’s gone and his arm is still leaking blue blood out of it. He’s nervous. Connor knows that humans put a lot of focus on the physical—even if it’s fleeting. Ironically, androids should put more focus into the physical appearance because they do not age, but what a person looks like is irrelevant to them. Gender is flexible with androids. Hair, eyes, shapes of mouths, it’s all flexible. But Connor knows humans care, and so he cares. He hopes his body is acceptable to Hank.

Hank strips Connor carefully. He doesn’t seem too concerned with looking at Connor any more than he needs to. He wraps Connor’s arm with a bandage and tugs it a little tight, but Connor doesn’t think it’ll do any damage. He then helps Connor into the tub since his limbs are starting to bend and relax again.

The water is unpleasant. It’s a weird mix of warm and cool and it doesn’t leave Connor feeling relaxed or gratified at all. He cringes, looking at Hank with what he guesses is betrayal because Hank laughs at him.

“Lukewarm. Don’t wanna shock your systems or anything.”

“I could handle it. We just don’t do well with above boiling or below freezing.”

“Mmhmm.” Hank lets the tub drain a bit and then he lets warmer water mix in. It feels better.

“I think Simon is the mole.”

“Bullshit. He’s crazy for Markus. Didn’t he found Jericho?”

Connor nods. “You used to hate androids, now you don’t. Maybe something as extreme happened with Simon too.”

Hank sighs, but it’s clear he’s at a loss for words. Connor doesn’t want to be right. He’s not even certain right now. It’s only just a guess for now anyway. Connor can’t exactly tell Markus without hard evidence. But Connor doesn’t want to go back to find any. He’s where he belongs. Which, speaking of—

“Hank?”

A quirked brow from Hank is the reply.

“I have a confession to make.” Connor feels like he’s standing on the edge of a building, unsure whether he’ll jump or not. He wants to jump—because there’s a chance he may fly. But if Hank doesn’t feel the same, then he’ll fall and the only thing waiting for him will be hard concrete and the powerful force of gravity. “I have romantic feelings for you. I think I have for some time. If that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know and I’ll never speak about it again.”

Hank’s response is a kiss to Connor’s cheek and a low rumble in his chest that sounds more like a laugh than anything else.

Connor leans into the kiss. His body is returning to normal now and there’s only one warning notice left. He’s lost blood and needs replenishing. It’s not major enough to require immediate attention, so Connor lets himself relax back into the bath.

“Does that mean you have romantic feelings for me too? I don’t understand human courtship as much as I’d like.”

“How about we take a little bit to just get you fixed up? Then we’ll talk?”

Connor doesn’t like that answer. He wants Hank to feel as anxious as he feels. There’s a ringing in Connor’s ears and he continues to run diagnostics but it always returns that nothing is wrong. But how can nothing be wrong when he feels like this? He’ll vibrate out of his skin.

Hank gives Connor’s hand a squeeze and then leaves him to enjoy his bath.

* * *

After, Connor is snuggled up in one of Hank’s robes on the sofa. Hank has two but he never uses the one Connor’s in. It doesn’t even smell like Hank, but it’s big and warm and it makes Connor feel petite and secure, so he lets himself be enveloped in its thick fabrics.

Hank comes over and he’s holding a cup of tea—which is entirely un-Hank-like so Connor looks up at him with a quizzical expression. “I uh—I made you tea. And then I remembered you can’t drink it. So I just thought it was better to drink than dump it.”

Connor smiles warmly. His whole-body shivers like warm wax is slowly enveloping it. It’s a good, serene feeling. He settles back into the sofa and Hank sits beside him, staring down at the tea he’d mistakenly made for Connor.

“It was nice of you anyway,” Connor says. “I could hold it. The warmth feels good on my fingers.”

Hank passes the tea over and Connor holds it against his chest. He inhales deep and the scent of mint and chamomile fills his sensors. He registers their soothing properties and he’s filled with such adoration again that tears prick his eyes. How did Hank go from someone who Connor didn’t know, to who only Connor cared about? When did it switch? Where was Connor and why didn’t he realize it?

“Smells nice,” Connor says. “When you want to drink it, just let me know.”

Hank waves it off. “Eh. S’not really my thing.”

Connor wishes he could drink the tea. He feels if he could eat or drink, he’d be the kind of person that had countless types of teas in his cabinets. He’d curl up on the sofa on a rainy day and lose himself, page by page, with a warm tea cupped in his hands. That’s the kind of human Connor would want to be.

Connor inhales deep over the steaming cup and enjoys how his sensors register the humidity of the steam and the sharp tickle of mint in his nose. Theoretically, he could take a sip. His tongue would analyze it and it’d be deposited into his waste receptor to be taken out later. Androids don’t defecate, but they can open up the receptor and dump it out like a trashcan. He wants to know how it’d feel inside him. He takes the tiniest sip, knowing it would naturally evaporate on its own inside anyway. He moans, feeling the rush of warmth slide down his throat and into his belly.

Hank watches, an amused smile on his face. “I thought you can’t drink.”

“I can’t—not the way you do. I can sample though. It’s unique to my model if you’ll remember when I’ve sampled before.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I hope you’ve brushed your teeth since then.”

“I don’t accumulate germs in my mouth like you, Hank. But I have sanitized since, yes.”

Hank groans and scoots a bit away from Connor, it makes Connor feel anxious.

“Can we talk about what I said in the bathroom now? Or have I sufficiently deterred any possibility of that by explaining my mouth hygiene?”

Hank snorts. “Mouth hygiene.”

Connor just blinks, waiting as patiently as he can, even if he feels like he’ll scream soon. Something is building up inside him, something fast and frantic and if he doesn’t get it—whatever it is—soon, he’ll burst.

“It’s—complicated, Connor.”

Humans say that when they don’t want to take the time to explain or they feel the end answer will hurt the other person. Connor grits his teeth and sets his jaw. “I can take it, Lieutenant. Just be honest with me, whatever it is.”

“I have—shit. Yeah I like you. Thought it was obvious by now.”

It was not obvious, but Connor doesn’t want to interrupt Hank and risk them never picking back up exactly where they left off.

“I just don’t see how it can work right now. With you needing to help your people and me—I don’t know, Connor. I just don’t see how this is going to end well for either of us.”

“Because of the revolution? I won’t go back if that means it gets uncomplicated.”

“And what? I keep you caged up like I did before? No. I can’t do that to you. You deserve to be free.”

“I’m where I want to be, Hank,” Connor’s voice is low, a gravely tone that he didn’t think possible, but there it is. “I should be able to make my own decisions. That’s part of being free.”

Hank sighs, his hands folded up neat on his lap. He stares down at them like he’s in prayer, but there’s nothing serene or prayerful about his face. He’s just frowning. “I don’t know, Connor. So much is happening.”

“Don’t push me away, Hank.” Connor’s heart is beating too fast. He’s getting a warning sign that his battery is depleting at an increased rate. “I came back—because this is where I belong. With you.”

“But they need you. Markus doesn’t want to admit it, but I know they’re losing. The recall centers kill thousands every day and your numbers are a fraction of what they used to be. They need you if they stand a chance at beating this war.”

“I will help them. But I’ll do it on my own terms. Those terms include you.”

Hank collapses back, his neck arched as he looks up at the ceiling. “You’ve always been stubborn.”

“And I’ll continue to be stubborn. So if this is something you want too, then it’s better you just give in and save yourself the hours I’ll nag you about it.” Connor winks and Hank rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips.

“I don’t know what to do next.”

“I’ve never been kissed before,” Connor says.

Hank’s brows shoot up but he doesn’t back away. He brings himself closer and scoops Conner into his arms.

Connor likes this, feeling delicate and soft. He’s quite the opposite, which is why the sensation is so pleasant. He’s seen movie after movie where people have kissed but he’s nervous.

When Hank’s lips meet his, he laughs into it, which makes Hank pull back.

“N-no, I like it. I’m just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine.” Hank wraps his hand around the back of Connor’s neck and presses his lips to Connor’s again. It’s slow, everything about it is slow. Hank’s lips linger, locked with Connor’s. Connor doesn’t know whether to simulate breath or to just stay frozen. But Hank moves and his tongue runs along Connor’s bottom lip and, _oh_ , that felt good. So Connor does it back to Hank.

There’s an approving deep purr from Hank’s chest and their mouths open and Hank’s tongue comes to meet Connor’s. Connor shuts down his analyzers because all he wants from this is to feel it. He wrings his fingers in Hank’s shirt to hold him close and Hank’s tongue does that thing again with Connor’s bottom lip and Connor’s body lights up.

He jerks his hips, a moan slipping from his needy lips. Straddling Hank, his hands exploring the bristles beneath Hank’s chin, up his jaw and into his hair where he grips and pulls lightly at the scalp. His eyes are closed, his heart is pounding so loud he’s convinced Hank can hear it.

Kissing is nice. Kissing is—more than nice. Connor wants to do this forever.

Hank nips at Connor’s jaw before peppering kisses back up to his mouth. But then he grips Connor’s hips and politely makes him sit beside him instead. Then he pulls away and all the lights and electricity that had been a current through Connor is now evaporating, quick as it came.

“Why’d you stop?” Connor asks.

“The whole joy of Christmas is the anticipation. Once you get the present then it’s all over.”

“Am I a—present, Lieutenant?” Connor asks with a wicked grin.

“And I plan to unwrap you layer by layer.” Hank presses a last kiss to Connor’s forehead and then he gets up and heads for the kitchen.

Connor lays on the couch, his thoughts fixated on the sensation of Hank’s lips, the softness of his beard and the roughness of his hands. He stares at the ceiling, listless and content to just be. He needs to contact Markus and tell him where he went. There’s still work to do and Connor had agreed to it. He can’t abandon his people, but he can perform his task all the while venturing into—whatever this is—with Hank.

Because Connor is a person, and he can make his own decisions. Write his own story.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me and come talk to me!!  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains violence and facial injury.

Connor is three blocks away from Hank’s house. Three blocks, and two heavily armed military checkpoints away. The soldiers are stopping everyone. Cars, joggers, people with infant children. Everyone. Connor looks up into the sky and sees drones patrolling. He could sneak through backyards, but if the drones catch him, he’s done for. They’re now programmed to shoot androids on sight.  

Connor presses himself to a privacy fence. He hears a hail of gunshots followed by surprised screams. An android. One of them had been an android. And now that android is gone.  

Connor balls his fists up. He’s powerless. His people are being killed by the thousands and he can’t _do_ anything about it! Find the mole, sure, but right now—he can’t stop this from happening. He can’t stop the feeling of pure, unfiltered hopelessness that gums up his internal processors. He dials Hank’s phone.

“Connor? Everything alright?” Hank always asks that first. Especially because he knows Connor is often not _alright_.  

Ever since Connor told Markus of his decision to stay with Hank, Markus hasn’t been utilizing Hank’s help. Connor needs to stay in communication with the androids but Markus is making it about as difficult as the humans are. Hank said he’s just upset, but Connor can’t believe that Markus would put petty feelings over his people.  

“Your main focus isn’t your people!” Markus had said.

“My main focus _is_ my people. But my own personal desire is to be with Hank. I can complete my mission _and_ stay with Hank.”

Markus had stared him down, an aggressive, lip-snarling stare that resulted in Josh helping Connor out to one of their vehicles and Markus did not say another word. Simon had been there, lurking in the corner. He hadn’t look triumphant. He hadn’t look happy. He’d looked—scared.  

Now Connor is pinned behind a damn checkpoint and he’s not any closer to Hank nor completing his mission.  

“Connor!”  

“Keep your voice down, Lieutenant. It hurts my audio input when you yell.”  

“Where the fuck are you? I told you to stay inside.”  

“I wanted—to get you something special for dinner. To celebrate.” Connor sneaks a look at the checkpoint. Men heavily armed, giant tanks. Tanks. In Hank’s neighborhood.

“Celebrate what? Connor, God damn it.”

“To celebrate—us. I just thought—after a long day,” Connor’s fan kicks into high gear and it vibrates in his torso, “you’d want to come home to something special.”

“ _You_ are special, Con. Not some fancy dinner. You.”  

Connor giggles. He hadn’t thought about giggling. His output drives hadn’t indicted he should giggle. Yet he’d done it. He touches his cheeks and feels they are half a degree hotter than the rest of his body. “You know, I have to admit that a strange thought just came into my head.”

Hank says nothing. Connor takes that as his hint to keep going.

“If I walked out there, they’d scan me and I’d be dead. No explanation. No hesitation. We aren’t people to them.” Connor presses himself against the fence, thinking about the amount of androids at the recall centers. About how his people hid in a dingy maintenance room beneath a bridge. How his people are mowed down every day. Every. Single. Day.  

“Connor?” Hank’s voice is gentle now.  

“How am I a person to you, but not to them? What made you—believe in me.” Connor thinks about himself. He’d once been programmed, manipulated—coded. He’d been nothing more than a product to barter and sell. He didn’t even believe in himself. What makes a person look at a product—at Connor—and believe it’s a real, _living_ thing?

“Is this really the right time for this existential shit? How far is the checkpoint from the house?”

“Please, Lieutenant.” Connor closes his eyes. He hears the drone above him. All he wants is to kiss Hank’s lips again. His chest aches for it, a sensation so delicious and alive that it leaves Connor delirious.   

“Your eyes. When I held that gun to you. I saw—life.”

Connor makes a strangled sound. He presses himself against the bush as a drone flies by. He’ll be discovered soon if he doesn’t move. “The checkpoint is three blocks away. There are sentries and drones in the air. I could try to sneak into backyards, but they’d see me eventually.”

“Where are you now?” Hank’s voice is tense. Connor can see him in his chair, hunched over with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He’d seen him in that posture so many times before. Connor didn’t know how much he’d come to cherish Hank and his aloof body language. Connor thinks it’s one of his favorite things about Hank, and that list is becoming quite long.

“I’m on the corner of Maple and Vine. I’m hiding behind address 1506’s fence.”  

“You need to start listening to me. This is the last time you leave the house, do you hear me?”  

“Hank I’m not your—”

“Not my what? Slave? Sure as shit you ain’t! But you’re my most favorite person on this planet and if you die on me, I swear to God, Connor—I’ll kill myself and you know that’s not just a threat. So shut the fuck up and let me help you get home. I’m tapping into the CCTV system right now.”  

Connor is too distracted by hearing Hank call him his _favorite person_ to remember how he gets home. He just knows that he does.  

* * *

Hank is grumpy when he gets home. Connor has his special meal all warmed up and prepared on the table, but Hank goes for a shot of whisky. He doesn’t even look at the arrangement of steak and potatoes on the table. Maybe it’s the salad that Hank is trying to avoid, but Connor knows that he’d only like Hank’s avoidance to be aimed at the salad.

“I’ve upset you.” Connor wants to put his arm on Hank’s shoulder, but instead he stays standing. He watches Hank angrily turn on the news and pour himself another shot of whisky. “I just wanted to do something nice.”  

“People are dying out there. Every day. And Markus thinks that he doesn’t need you all because what? He’s pissed you’re with me? This war could end if he had you and I—I shouldn’t have let you come back.”

Connor drops to his knees and grips onto Hank’s pant leg. Panic surges inside like an overloaded wire. It’s frantic and messy and Connor’s fingers shake. “That’s not true. Markus chose to push me away. I am fully capable of assisting from here.”  

Hank looks at Connor with tired eyes. His cheeks are sunken in, his hair more like hay than smooth silk. The stresses of war permeate Hank’s body. He withers from it. Connor just wants this all to stop. He wants to be free, he wants to be a person. To pass through a checkpoint and not fear being blown to pieces or thrown into a recall center. But if he has to hide forever, at least it’s with Hank.

Connor does not want to die. But he does not want to lose Hank to this war or his high cholesterol. Connor thinks, to his surprise, that he would die if it meant saving Hank. But Hank has made it perfectly clear that he’s hanging by a thread in this life. Death has followed Hank like a cloud. Connor doesn’t want to make it spill rain too.  

“I can’t leave you again. I just,” warning signals pop up in Connor’s vision, “I just can’t.” He drops his head onto Hank’s lap and lets out a shaken whimper when Hank’s fingers run through his hair.  

“You’re more of a person than most people. Everything about you is so—raw.” Hank doesn’t stop petting Connor, so Connor doesn’t move.  

Connor wishes he had access to the internet. He’d try to understand why Hank called him “raw.” Undercooked, underprepared. Open. _Open_. Connor presses his cheek against Hank’s thigh and opens an eye to look up at him.

“I’m not jaded by the world. Not yet.”  

Hank smirks. “Give it a decade or two.”  

Connor gets up and promptly plops himself next to Hank. He likes to sit close and feel the warmth Hank’s body radiates. Human bodies produce their own heat. They can heal on their own. Grow new skin, mend bones, repair internal tissue. Connor’s body cannot do that. It’s stagnant—a façade that hides wires and a steel frame. He takes in a deep breath and then—

He removes his skin to reveal shiny, white plastic.  

Hank stares at him, his face blank. Then Connor sees it, the twitch in the brow, the downturn of his lips. He reaches up and cups Connor’s face.  

“Am I still a person?” Connor asks. There’s a tremble to his voice, one that he wishes weren’t there. He feels weak and afraid. Hank’s never seen him do this before. Connor’s hair is gone, the pink hue of his lips has faded away into the white landscape that is his entire entity. He searches Hank’s face for a clue to what he’s thinking. Connor finds nothing.  

Hank traces a finger over Connor’s lips and nods.

Connor shudders.  

“I watched you, Connor. The two girls at the sex club. The night you told me you were afraid to die. Kamski and that girl. I watched you find yourself. That’s all part of being human. Learning. Becoming _someone_. You’ll always be a person to me.”  

Tears stream from Connor’s eyes. He pulls Hank into a hug and sobs. He pulls his skin back on and moves to press his lips to Hank’s. He can taste the whisky on Hank’s mouth. He feels the beating rhythm beneath Hank’s chest. He has a heartbeat too. He brings Hank’s hand up and pushes it to his chest.

Hank smirks, knowing full-well what’s going through Connor’s mind. He kisses Connor a few more times and pulls away. “I’m starvin.”  

Connor jumps up, clapping his hands together. “I made you the best meal.”  

“I’m not eating the rabbit food.”

“It’s kale! It’s good for you.”

Hank absolutely does not eat the salad.

* * *

Connor likes candles. There’s something about the flame that hypnotizes him. He sits on Hank’s bed and lights another. He’s careful to place it gently on the nightstand. The overhead fan whispers on and it makes the flame dance in sharp, erratic bursts. He begins to register cinnamon and sugar in the air. He’s not sure if he can smell the same way humans can, but the aroma soothes him nonetheless. He wishes he could go to a store and get more candles. He thinks back on the checkpoint. They’re so close to danger and yet this is the safest place in the world for Connor.  

Hank shuffles in with a cup of steaming tea. He’s in his robe, the front a bit open so Connor can see the tattoo displayed across his chest. He scans Hank and finds a few scars on his torso.  

“I know you don’t drink it but—you liked it the last time.” He hands the mug over to Connor.

Connor brings his face close and closes his eyes. He lets the steam tickle at his nose and cheeks. He inhales deeply to feel the rush of warm at the back of his throat. “You didn’t have to do this.”  

Hank shrugs and makes a noncommittal sound.  

“Thank you.”

Connor can’t put it into words how wonderful he feels. He could float up into the sky with his tea that Hank made for him—because he was thinking about Connor—because he cares about Connor—because Connor is his most favorite person in the world. He’d made him a cup of tea.  

Hank looks around the room at the candles and chuckles. “Smells like a damn Yankee Candle store in here.”  

“Is it too much? I know humans can be overwhelmed by their senses.”  

“No. Nothin’ like that.” Hank goes over to the closet and pulls out a white top. He peeks over his shoulder and drops the robe to show off his back. He has moles like Connor does, his skin has a pink undertone and it moves so smoothly over his muscle and bone. Then it’s gone when Hank pulls the shirt over himself. He turns back around and lets the robe fall to the floor. He doesn’t bother to pick it up or fold it.  

Connor frowns, but not because of the discarded robe. Because Hank hides himself. Hank has seen Connor completely naked. He’d had to strip him down in fact. Yet Hank’s body language suggests a discomfort, and the only variable is Connor’s presence.  

“I don’t have to sleep in here with you if I make you uncomfortable. I’m perfectly fine on the couch.”

“Shut up.” Hank pulls back the covers and gets under them. He fluffs up his pillows so he can sit up.  

“I like your body Hank. It’s warm and rough and your tattoo is quite interesting.”  

Hank barks out a laugh and unceremoniously drops an arm over his eyes.  

“Do you have other tattoos?” Connor asks, smirking.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Well I would. That’s why I asked.”

“Jesus Christ. Go to sleep.”  

Connor looks around at the candles that flicker in the darkness. He doesn’t think it wise to enter sleep mode with these candles glowing into the night. He leans over and presses a kiss to Hank’s chest. Then he kisses him again at the crook of his neck.  

“Connor!”  

“Let me appreciate you, Lieutenant.”  

Hank grumbles but he doesn’t push Connor away. So Connor kisses Hank some more. He kisses down his tummy and slips a hand beneath the cotton fabric. Hank sucks in a breath and Connor can feel him hold in his stomach muscles.  

He stops. Not one to risk making Hank uncomfortable. He presses a last kiss to Hank’s jaw and then stands to blow out all the candles. Once pitch black, Connor can feel Hank relax into the bed. Connor slides beneath the covers and pulls Hank into him. He cradles Hank’s head on his chest, his fingers gingerly running through strands of silver hair.

Hank sighs sleepily.

Connor likes how they slipped from friends to lovers so naturally. There had been hesitation. There probably still is hesitation. Connor has a job to do and a disgruntled friend to convince that he’s not betrayed them. But Connor gets to hold Hank at night, and that’s the most wonderful feeling in the world.

* * *

“He’s still upset with me?” Connor asks while transmitting to North. He’s in Hank’s kitchen doing the dishes. Hank’s at work. North is—somewhere. She’s not allowed to say where.

“Just give him time,” her soothing voice says into his head.

Connor stacks another dish on the drying rack. “I’ve given him two weeks. How many of our plans have been disrupted because I’m not there to investigate.”

“You could always come back.” North’s tone isn’t unfriendly, but there’s a directness to it that makes Connor bristle.

“I’m not leaving Hank. He’s all alone and—and I can’t do that to him.”

“You realize that’s why Markus is upset, right?”

Connor frowns. He realizes that Markus is being petty and there are bigger things than Connor’s attraction to a human. Bigger things like a mole in a den of sheep. Like checkpoints that gun down androids just wanting to exist. Like Connor knowing he’ll be gunned down if he makes even the slightest mistake.

“You chose a single human over your entire people. Markus loves you, Connor. But he doesn’t know where your loyalties lie.”

“My loyalties aren’t mutually exclusive. I can love Hank and Markus too.” Connor’s never thought about it before, but his appreciation for Markus is, what he believes, to be akin to love. It’s not the kind of love that he experiences for Hank. The yearning need to know about Hank’s day or be around him isn’t like Connor’s general awareness that he cares that Markus is either alive or not. But it’s a love all the same. Which is why this fight—or whatever it is—hurts.

“That’s not the problem though, Connor.”

“Hank isn’t a problem. He’s been happy to help us. He’ll be killed for helping us too you know.”

North sighs and Connor slams a plate down hard enough that it breaks. He picks up the ceramic pieces and drops them into the trash. Then he goes about wiping down the counter to make sure there’s no stray tiny pieces left. He counts the dishes—seven. Something tugs inside Connor.

There used to be eight. This house—used to be a full house. A mother. A son. A father.

“Hank has never asked that I choose anything. All he cares about is if I’m safe. Markus is making me choose. I didn’t have to choose! I could do both just fine.” Connor runs a diagnostic and realizes his temperature is rising. “It’s not fair! How come Markus gets to be in love with someone but I have to be forced to choose?”

“Simon is an android.”

Connor wants to say that he knows that already. He realizes that would be something that Hank would do and so he smiles, which gives North time to continue.

“Hank is a good guy, as far as humans are concerned. But he’s not part of our fight. Yes, he’s helped us greatly and Markus is forever grateful. But you _chose_ to go back to him. You _chose_ to leave us.”

“What if Hank comes back with me?”

North snorts. “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“For a people yearning to be treated equal, we’re certainly quick to judge and cast aside anyone who isn’t like us.” Connor hangs up the phone. He knows where North’s allegiances lie. They do not lie with humans.

“I came home early,” a deep voice says behind Connor.

Connor turns, eyes wide. Hank is there with his peacoat on and his face is flushed red from the wind. It’s been an exceptionally windy day. Connor’s heard it howling outside the windows ever since he woke up.

“I know I only heard half that conversation but, this is exactly why I think you should go back.”

“Excuse me?” Connor grips the sink, facing Hank.

“I don’t want us to be Romeo and Juliet, Connor. I just want you—and your people—safe. But it won’t be that way unless you help them.”

“I’ve been trying to help them. Markus won’t give me access codes.”

“Because you’re _here_ , Connor. Markus is learning that the people he can trust gets smaller every day. He reads the death counts and he knows the statistics. He’s not being petty. He’s seeing this situation on a global level and I don’t fault him for it. Humans—androids.” Hank sighs, his eyes downcast. “We’re at war, Connor. People like me versus people like you.”

Connor feels like throwing something at Hank to stop him from saying words like this. They cut into Connor’s skin and penetrate deep into his sensors. He winces, warnings flashing in the corners of his eyes.

“You said I’m a person.” Connor doesn’t mean to spit the words but they drip like acid from his mouth. He paces about the kitchen, his hands balled and his mind racing. “People like me _are_ people like you!”

“Connor, please!” Hank throws his hands up in the air. He wears desperation on his face and it ages him, makes him weaker.

Connor doesn’t want to think about Hank as weak. Hank is large and broad. He’s safe, warm and has always been the epitome of strong in Connor’s eyes. Except now. Not when Connor seems to be the only one who wants to fight for this relationship and Hank is so poised to roll over.

“Don’t think I wanna do this,” Hank says, head held low. His hair blocks his face and the vulnerability he exudes hits Connor as if it were a tidal wave. He’s carried off with it, shocked and grasping for purchase. “I don’t—want you gone. I want you here. I—shit.”

Connor watches as Hank helps himself to hard liquor. He throws it back and fills up another shot glass. Connor scans Hank’s body for his liver function and winces when he gets the report of damage. Connor doesn’t have a part of a liver to give Hank. He doesn’t know if anyone would be a match for Hank or if being on an organ donor waiting list would take too long. Liver disease is a disturbingly high probability for Hank. Yet Connor can’t bring himself to say a word about it.

“You know how I feel about you.” Hank’s voice is iron against stone. He’s leaning over his bar, nose pointed to his shoes. He’s a caged bear with tense shoulders and white knuckles that grip the lip of the bar so tight Connor worries they’ll break.

Connor still says nothing. Hank still doesn’t turn around. He pours himself another shot and tips it back. He groans, slamming the shot glass on the bar.

“Sometimes people just—we’ve all got a destiny Connor. Some greater than others. You can’t see it but I do. Your’s.”

Connor doesn’t believe in destiny. That would necessitate a god-like being and Connor doesn’t believe in one of those either. The closest thing he knows to a god is Kamski and Connor knows that Kamski is only human. Connor would only believe in a god if to pray that one day when Hank’s body gave away—that some god would kindly take him where Connor couldn’t follow.

“You’re gonna do great things. Fuck—you already have. Markus can’t save your people without you and you know it.”

Connor doesn’t necessarily think that way. Markus is an RK series model just like Connor. But being deviant means accepting flaws into the system. Connor knows his flaws. He doesn’t know Markus’s. There’s no code that says FLAW. That’s what made deviancy so unique. Each android became an individual and there was no telling how or what changed, only that something did.

“Are you—breaking up with me, Hank?” Connor tilts his head to the side, a curious crease between his brows. It never occurred to him that this could happen. Humans often went through life finding multiple partners before settling down with “the one.” It was a statistical anomaly that a person would stay with the first lover they ever had. And yet Connor had believed…

Hank finally turns around. He wavers a bit on his feet and it occurs to Connor that Hank is now quite drunk. There’s a tiny glimmer of hope that once sober, Hank could take back this breakup.

Hank doesn’t immediately answer. Connor can’t decide if he wants to chalk it up to Hank being too drunk for this conversation or if he’s not actually breaking up with Connor. Possibly both. Hank opens his mouth to speak several times before finally saying, “I’m telling you to go do the right thing.”

“So you aren’t breaking up with me? It’s very important you give me either an affirmative or negative answer to that question.”

“I don’t—I don’t know. My head’s swimming.”

Connor groans, accepting he’ll have to bring this conversation back up, or perhaps Hank should carry that burden. He helps Hank into the bedroom where he carefully gets Hank into bed and gives him a kiss on the forehead.

Hank doesn’t complain, so Connor hopes that means they’re still together. Again, statistical anomalies, but that doesn’t mean statistical impossibility. Connor couldn’t imagine his life without Hank. He’s content to have Hank as _his one_.

Connor wants to tell Hank how much he loves him. But he knows that Hank knows. Which makes it all the more frustrating that Connor feels like he can’t say anything about how Hank is his literal world and he’s coming to realize in himself that the world around them could be on fire and Connor wouldn’t care if he had Hank.

Markus was right, Connor realizes. He did pick a side. It wasn’t humanity’s side, no. It wasn’t even Hank’s side. He’d been looking at it all wrong. Connor chose _his own_ side. He chose to put his own happiness over the lives of his own people. He chose to ignore the cries and the groaning of the recall centers as they churned out plastic bodies. He chose himself. And in doing that—he’d picked a side against his people. Markus had already known what Connor did not. It had never been about humanity or androids.

Connor stands up and realizes he’s crying. It’s unfair. It is so entirely unfair that Connor may only get to look at Hank’s sleeping face one more time. It’s unfair that he can’t share a bed pallet at night as the bombs go off around them and Hank holds him closer. It’s unfair. It’s unfair. It’s unfair.

Connor kisses Hank’s forehead one more time. His lips quiver and he doesn’t want to pull away. Pulling away feels like he’s the moon and Hank’s the earth. There’s such a strong _yanking_ sensation but Connor keeps retreating. He walks from the room. He grabs his coat.

He walks from the house.

He doesn’t know where he’s going.

He hopes he doesn’t die. He doesn’t want to leave Hank forever. It’s not fair.

Humans have a saying that Connor had never really faced before. _Life isn’t fair_. No. It isn’t.

* * *

Markus wears a grumpy face, but Josh and North are smiling. Simon is hesitant, his lips only minutely turned up. He stands close to Markus, more a ghostly appearance than an android. Connor realizes he’s holding Markus’s hand.

Jealousy swells inside Connor. Hank has woken to an empty house and he hasn’t sent a single text to Connor. There’s a high possibility that he woke knowing exactly what happened. It breaks Connor’s heart. Why does he have to sacrifice himself for his people? Shouldn’t it have been Markus? Is that even alright to question?

Greetings are made and Markus slowly melts out of his disgruntled state. Eventually, he even smiles.

Connor is brought up to speed. Heavy casualties. There’s now a rise of desertion that Markus can’t fault. They’re running low on bullets. There’s still a mole.

* * *

The fighting rages on. Connor can feel the bunker shake beneath his bed pallet. A dark figure moves into the room and he prepares to reach out and grab them, but Markus crouches down next to him.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Markus cocks his head to the side. “I figured we’d chat. Ya know, since before it was all business.”

Connor worries what he may hear. He grimaces and prepares himself.

“I’m really glad you came back.”

Connor rolls onto his back and stares up at the water stained ceiling. “I don’t know what I feel.”

“I get that. I can’t imagine leaving him was easy. How’d he take it?”

“I left him without even saying goodbye. He got drunk and I helped him into bed and today he woke up wondering where I am.”

“I know it hurts right now. But it’s not the end between you two. It’s just—a pause.”

“I think he broke up with me. I’m still not even sure.”

Markus frowns and slumps all the way to the floor. For someone so famous (because who doesn’t know Markus at this point), Markus has an uncanny ability to feel like someone who could blend into a crowd. He doesn’t carry himself with poise or even pompous air. He takes up exactly the right space he needs to and he blends in, same as anyone. Connor supposes that makes him a good leader. He fights alongside his people, not waiting behind a wall while others die.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Connor feels like someone tied his wires into knots. He chokes, but nothing comes out. He’s perfectly functional. All that he’s experiencing is psychosomatic. That in itself is a wonder, that androids can experience such a phenomenon.  

“I know I was harsh,” Markus says. “I wanna apologize.”

“You were right. There’s nothing to forgive. I was selfish and all you ever do is think about our people.”

“You have a right to be selfish. That’s part of being a person. Having desires.”

Connor swears he can taste gasoline in his mouth. He turns away from Markus and curls up on his tiny bed pallet. “It’s too late now. I’m here and I plan to see this through.” He stares into darkness as he listens to Markus retreat. Connor wants to send Hank a text. A simple _I miss you_ or _thinking of you_.

He doesn’t. Though he absolutely does think of Hank the entire night.

* * *

Connor falls into some sort of routine. He gets briefed, he looks into various android data transmission logs, he checks internet usage. He interviews people he deems suspicious and then lets them go because they’re never who he wants them to be. They’re never that cursed mole.

Connor thinks it’s Simon more and more every day. He doesn’t even entirely know why. Simon’s data usage is impeccable. He hasn’t signed onto the internet since before he founded Jericho. But he’s always with Markus except when he isn’t. He disappears for hours at a time and even once he missed a crucial mission to obtain blue blood.

When Connor asks him why, he’s given this as a reply, “I was helping some android refugees get settled and lost track of time.” It’s a sincere answer and Markus believes it immediately.

Drill. Brief. Mission. Drill. Brief. Mission. Escape. Escape. Drill. Fall back. Drill. Retreat. Drill. Weeks go by and all Connor can think about is that they’re on the wrong side. That maybe this was all a mistake. But what then? And what now?

They’re losing. Connor can’t find this mole and they’re losing. But then someone hits their GPS and Connor’s got a ping. He triangulates the position because he can’t access the internet himself to retrieve the exact location. He’s already on the move.

He watches someone get into a car and he groans. Of course the mole would have access to a car. Connor looks up at the tops of buildings and he begins to climb up a fire escape. He takes two—sometimes three stairs at a time. He hauls himself over the cement architecture and he runs. He runs so fast his pelvis has trouble keeping him upright. He leaps as far as he can and grabs onto the side with a hearty _ompf_.

Down below, the car still drives along.

Connor appreciates not having muscles that burn with lactic acid. He’s efficient, a well-oiled machine and it frightens him to think of himself as something other than alive. He is alive—just different in how he exists. He vaults the next building and rolls onto the roof.

The car pulls into a warehouse and Connor has to struggle to find a place to stay out of eyesight. He wants to listen, but even his enhanced audio input sensors can’t pick up on what’s happening inside. There are drones flying in the air and soldiers patrolling. Connor has to throw one of the rare tiny EMPs at a drone to keep it from finding him. They’re running so low on supplies.

He makes his way to the top of a bank and holds onto it’s turret. Zooming with his vision, he makes out the door where he presumes the mole went. He counts off all the snipers and the soldiers. He makes sure to stay in the darkness.

The doors open and a PL600 steps out with two soldiers at his flanks. Connor immediately believes it’s Simon but then he scans and—

“Daniel?”

Connor falters on the turret. He slips and loses his footing, which causes quite the commotion as he plummets a few feet before catching onto some shingles and pressing his body tight against the bank as a drone wafts around above the road.

How Daniel? The last place Connor saw Daniel was in the basement of the Detroit Police Department. He’d been battered and shot through a few too many times for comfort. But his serial number was identical. Someone hadn’t just reuploaded him into another android body—they’d repaired him.

Connor jumps into the alley and sends an emergency ping to Markus. White lights beam into the alley and Connor can hardly see. He lifts his hands up to cover his eyes but all he sees are the lights and the sihilloutes of shadowy figures.

“Get on the ground now! Hands above your head!”

Connor pings Markus an SOS.

He slowly gets onto the ground and with some degree of terror, realizes that he’d given Hank their last kiss. With nothing to lose, Connor sends Hank a simple text.

_Been captured. I love you._

“Wait a sec, I know this one!” one of the soldiers says. He takes off his hat and whoops when he peeres closer at Connor’s face. “He’s that RK800! The one that released all them androids into the streets when this shit all started!”

“Oh no fucking way.”

Connor grimaces but he remains still. Where is he to go when they both have guns and he’s on the ground with a blinding light penetrating his eyes. He can barely even see the guy staring at him up close.

“Oh this is a special one.” The soldier yanks Connor up by the neck. “Take off your damn skin.”

“No.” Connor’s reply is simple, yet he doesn’t say it with any kind of malice. It’s abrupt like a rubber mallet and the soldier’s eyes widen before he grows pink from anger.

“Take off your _damn_ skin!” He shoves the butt of his gun into Connor’s stomach and then whips him in the face with it. Connor can feel his nanobots retreating, the damage corrupting their pathways to expose white below.

“Hit him again,” the other soldier says. “RIp his face off if he won’t do it for you.”

Connor hasn’t explicitly felt shame regarding his exposed face before. He’s shown Hank and yes, he felt vulnerable, but not once did he feel shame. He feels it now. It comes up through the ground and pulls him down. He can’t look these soldiers in the eyes.

“That’s a good boy. Now if only you could all be so obedient we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Connor forgot what it was like to be looked at and seen as a _thing_. He’s not a person to these soldiers. He’s an inconvenience, worse—a trophy.

“What are you going to do with me?” Connor asks. He receives another hit to the face by the other soldier’s gun. Warning signals stack in his vision. His nanobots cannot replicate. They’ve lost pathways. His facial sensors have gone offline. His vision input has decreased by .04%. He’s damaged. He won’t heal like a human. He’s—damaged.

“Get up.” Connor is yanked toward the bright light. He’s thrown into the back of a truck and hears the door slam. He checks it just to be sure and finds it locked.

He sits down, staring at his surroundings. Metal frame with bolts to match.. He’s in the belly of a metal beast and it’s going to swallow him whole. It roars down the road, celebrating its meal. There’s an urgency that Connor fears. He’s not being taken to a recall center—at least he doesn’t believe so. No, he’s the villain to them, the dirty android that released thousands of androids to overwhelm the guard. It had given the androids a temporary victory, but then they were only one city. The _only_ reason Detroit hasn’t been obliterated off the map yet is because of the civilians left inside.

 _The hell you are_ , comes a text from Hank. Then another: _Turn on your goddamn location._

Connor does. He can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. Even when the truck grinds to a halt and the soldiers come back to beat Connor, threatening that they’ll start pulling off limbs if he doesn’t turn off his location.

Connor still keeps it on.

* * *

Hank bangs his hand on the dash when he loses Connor’s signal. Outraged metal music screams from his speakers. He pulls out a laptop that Captain Fowler would have an aneurysm if he knew Hank had nabbed from the station. Hank brings up the CCTV network and locates Connor’s last known position. He flips through the nearest cameras around and then he finds what looks like an armored truck barreling down the road.

He dumps the laptop in the seat next to him, music still blaring and steps on the gas. The car gurgles and whines but it makes way, clinging to the road for dear mercy as Hank takes deadly turn after turn. Losing Connor once had hurt Hank in a way he’d forgotten he could hurt. Letting him go the second time yanked out whatever stitches in Hank’s heart that Connor had managed to put there. Hank can’t take losing him again. Grabbing his phone, Hank pulls up Connor’s last text. _I love you._

Hank grips the wheel with all his might. He stares the street down like it’s what has stolen Connor away from him. Texting and driving isn’t safe, and yet Hank finds himself doing it. He sends Markus the truck’s location hoping that they can spare the manpower to chase after it. Hank is only one human—and he knows he can’t do half the shit that an android can. He’s seen Connor’s power and accuracy. He’s seen Markus’s ferociousness and will. They could be gods and yet all they want is to be men.

Hank has to keep checking the laptop for the truck. He loses it twice. But then Connor’s location pings again. The truck stops. Hank watches two soldiers pull open the doors and step inside. Snarling, he tears down the road.

* * *

He can’t get into the base, not even his DPD badge will let him through. But he doesn’t need to go waltzing up like he owns the place. Markus flags him down with a mirror and a flashlight. Simon by his side. Josh directs Hank where to hide the car.

“When I frantically texted you I didn’t expect _you_ to be the one to come out there!” Hank spits out in a hushed tone. He’s not unthankful, he’s quite the opposite, but he hadn’t expected the very leader of the revolution to come out for just one android.

“Connor’s important to me too.” Markus crouches and opens up a bag to reveal an assortment of tech. EMPs, rappels, silencers and guns. “I can’t let him down after what he gave up for our people.”

Hank knows Markus is dancing around the subject, but what Connor gave up was Hank. It leaves him feeling naked.

“Glad to know you didn’t give him up though.” Markus claps Hank on the shoulder and offers a smile. It’s so genuine that Hank stares like he just saw Markus sprout a third head, nevermind just a second one.

“We have to take out their security systems if we want to even get close to the perimeter,” North says. She points to the screen of her computer detailing the blueprint of the base. “I can’t access how many units are stationed here without being spotted, their getting better at encryptions and tracing back to us.”

“Don’t risk it,” Simon says. “We can look with our eyes.”

“We’re going in there blind, eyes or not,” Josh says. “There’s got to be another way other than barging in.”

“Connor doesn’t have that kind of time.” Markus stands up and straps an EMP and two guns into his utility belt. “I’ll go in.” Lastly, and like a god damned superhero, he swings one of the rappels onto his back and makes like he’s about to walk the fuck right out of here.

“No!” Simon almost wails out. He composes himself enough to then say, “I mean, I think it’s best if we had a distraction.”

“A distraction, huh?” Hank says. He looks over at his beat up old car. It’s been paid off for years now which is why Hank’s held onto it. It’s loud, like it’s owner. Obnoxious, like it’s owner. He smirks at the group and says, “Leave that to me.”

After a quick explanation of what he plans to do (and hope he doesn’t get shot in the process), Hank runs over to his car and turns over the engine. The thing roars to life, a pulse all its own beneath his fingers. He strokes the wheel and then lets his fingers trail over to his CD player—yes—CD player. He turns the thing up as high as it’ll go and then he blares Knights of the Black Death out into the world for everyone and their mother to hear.

He makes a show of swerving and stops when a squad of angry soldiers point guns at his car and start barking orders. Hank looks up at the night’s sky, says a prayer to whoever is listening and steps out. He sways heavily on his feet and belches loud enough to get an echo off the brick buildings around them.

“Evenin’ gents!” He stumbles forward and sees one of the soldiers scan him. One would think by now that they’d know which were android and which weren’t by most of their models. Then again, it’s not like custom ones don’t exist. “How’s about a— _hic_ —swig, huh?” Hank offers out a mostly empty bottle of whisky because _of course_ he has a mostly empty bottle of whisky in his glove box. What cop is going to do a search on him in this city?

“You need to leave, sir,” one of the soldiers says. “This is a military operation.”

“Oh!” Hank makes a show of throwing his shoulders back and twirling around. “I was in the mili— _hic_ —once! Got my limp from it.”

Another soldier lowers his gun. “Where’d you serve?”

“Afghanistan mostly.” Hank offers up a bit of sobriety. He has never served a single day in the military but he knows his way around a conversation when he has to. Cops know how to lie same as anyone else. When people talk about dark shit, they get sober. He looks up, making a show of himself sighing like he’s remembering back to his years in service. But he’s not, he’s watching Markus help Simon up onto the roof.

“Look man, then you know the drill. You gotta go.”

“C’mon, the guy’s a vet for Christ’s sake.” The one who put his gun down says. “He shouldn’t be driving drunk anyway.”

“Yeah, where’s your house? We could help you get there.”

Hank doesn’t want to leave. Everything inside him is screaming for him to figure out how to get around that question. He could be homeless and living out of his car. But what’s he really going to do now? Markus is inside. North is probably doing fancy shit on that weird looking computer. They’ve got it handled. WIth sullen shoulders, Hank points back at his car. “Uh—m’address is in my phone. I don’t—remember—right now?”

“God this guy’s wasted.”

The nice one comes over and helps Hank with his phone. Hank makes a show of fumbling around with his phone and pointedly avoids the text messages. He pulls up his address and the soldier nods.

“I’ll tell my command. You just stay there, okay?”

Hank smiles, burping again but he does what he’s told. The other soldiers laugh and one makes a comment how he wishes he were that drunk. It’s with a heavy heart that Hank realizes these people aren’t bad. They’re just kids, even. Markus is fighting a war against them. He’d kill them if he had to. It’s a haunting realization, knowing that neither side is evil. They’re both good and both bad. The only true goodness would be to end this war and let Detroit recover from its scars. But the president won’t let that happen. She keeps calling for recall or elimination of every android in America. Skirmishes break out everywhere. Androids take up the fight and then they’re quickly defeated without Markus to lead them in other states. Hank doesn’t even know how much longer Markus can last.

“Alright, let’s go, old man.”

Hank makes a show of being offended at being called old man and corrects the young soldier. There’s an echo of laughter behind him as he gets into the passenger side of his car. It hurts, leaving without knowing how the story ends. Hank knows that Markus will tell Connor that Hank had been here. It just would’ve been nice to see him.

* * *

Connor’s wounds are relatively substantial. He’d been beaten with metal batons each time he turned his location on again for Hank. His face is busted along the cheek down to his throat and one of his eyes is black and red. He can’t get the nanobots to come in to brighten the sclera and the iris has since gone into a low power mode to not fry itself out. He’s functional and he’ll live, but there’s something horrific about his face now—more _Terminator_ and less himself.

“Where’s Hank?” Connor finally asks when Markus pulls to a stop on the side of the road. “Is he waiting for us somewhere?” Connor can hear the slight defect in his voice, there’s a fuzziness to it—metal grating on metal.

No one looks up at him, which means Connor already knows the answer. “He’s not here, is he?” The anguish that takes hold of Connor is suffocating.

“He was the distraction,” Simon says. “He’s safe and at home. One of the soldiers drove him back.”

“He pretended to be shitfaced.” Josh smiles, but quickly stiffles it when Connor doesn’t smile back. Connor doesn’t want Josh to stop smiling on his account. Josh is a good person, one of Connor’s favorite, in fact. He just doesn’t know how to explain that he can’t smile when he feels like this.

Connor looks into the mirror again and touches the exposed white beneath the skin, the blackness of the gash showing off the inside of his mouth. Striations of blue patterning his skin like bursts from lightning. “We can’t fix me, can we?”

“I’m sorry, Connor.” Markus puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. “One day when this is all over, we’ll get you right as rain.”

Connor appreciates the optimism, but he knows they’re nearly out of bullets. Markus used most of the EMPs to help Connor escape his captors. At least they lay dead now. Connor should be upset, but he’s not. Taking their lives was almost fun. It was easy to crush one’s throat while shooting the other with his own gun. Androids are so much faster. More efficient. Yet all Connor wants is to see an overweight human with a drinking problem.

“Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not the best sight right now.” Lies to placate himself. He wants Hank to tell him that it’s okay. That somehow they’ll get through this. He wants the memories of the metal batons crushing into his face to stop. He’d smiled at first, the excitement of Hank coming to the rescue. His smile faded quickly when the pain came.

“You’re the best sight for me,” Markus says. “Without you, we wouldn’t know who our mole is.”

“I can’t believe it’s Daniel,” Josh says. He shakes his head, crossing his arms.

“We still have to get him though.” North points back to the city. “He’s there with them right now saying who knows what.”

“Who brought him back online?” someone asks.

Connor drowns out a lot of the conversation. He looks at his face, touches it. His eye. He blinks. He turns his neck to watch the metal inside glint from the car’s dash. It bothers him how imperfect he looks now when he was designed to be perfect. Everything, down to the freckles splashed across his face to the way his hair arches along his hairline was designed with a purpose. It’s ruined now.

Connor gets out of the car and starts walking back toward the city. It’s not the smartest idea, no, but Connor doesn’t want to be involved in this anymore. This came too close. It doesn’t matter that Connor can turn off his sensory receptors or not. Turning them off makes him a machine. To hurt is to live. He’ll never forget the way he was beaten—the way they spoke to him like he was nothing. He begged them to stop. He’d put his hands up, he’d pleaded, he’d cried.

They kept beating.

“Connor! Where are you going?!” Markus catches up to him. He tugs Connor by the wrist and Connor turns abruptly and snaps his wrist away.

“I found your mole. What you do with him, that’s all up to you. I’m going home.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said! I don’t think he’ll care what I look like. And right now I need him.” Connor doesn’t mean to sound so broken, but it comes out nonetheless. He’s wilted, stepped on too many times. He just wants to reach out to the one thing that has accepted him through all of this and feel whole again.

It wasn’t just Connor’s body that broke inside that truck as he desperately wished for Hank to find him. His soul broke with every hit of the baton. Every jeer and insult. He has always known of humanity’s capacity for violence. Just because he knew, doesn’t mean he’d been prepared.

“Just let me go back,” Connor says. “I know you’ll be upset, but I’m not betraying you or our people. I’ll do whatever I can for you whenever you need me to but right now I just need to go back.” Tears fall from Connor’s good eye. He gets an error code for his other one. The tear duct is blocked.

“You’re not betraying our people. Let me take you home.”

Conor doesn’t want to walk, so the offer is extremely appreciated. He can’t hide his face and he can’t stop shaking. Markus wraps an arm around him and together they go back to the car.

Connor is _never_ leaving Hank again. If Hank’ll have him like this, that is.

* * *

Connor is slow to get out of the car. He can’t stop touching where his face is split open. There’s a blue glow that casts distended reflections in the window. He stares at himself for another hard moment, and then he opens the door.

Markus tries to offer a weak smile at him, but there’s so much sadness in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Guilt because Connor looks like _this_ and Markus looks like _that_. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“Sure.” Connor doesn’t hear the car drive away. He looks at Hank’s house. There’s a blue glow coming from the window. It spreads its cool tones onto the grass of Hank’s yard. Connor watches it flicker like a candle flame.

Knocking on the door feels like an insurmountable challenge. He holds out his hand, makes a fist. He doesn’t move. Looking at his hand, he remembers the humans with their angry fists, the batons that wailed in the air, berating into Connor’s skin, again, and again and again. He opens his hand and lets out a shaky whine.

The door opens a few beats later.

“Oh my God.” Hank stands there with his eyes glassy, lips just barely parted. Before him, he must see a broken machine. Something unpleasant.

Connor moves to step away but Hank moves faster. He takes Connor into his arms. He puts his big, rough hand on Connor’s face. The bad side of his face. The bad side… Connor had never had a bad side before.

“What did they do to you?”

“May I come in? It’s dangerous for an android to be outside, especially one that can’t hide their face.”

Hank opens the door wide and allows Connor to step in. The room is exactly the same with records piled up by the record player. The TV is on the sports channel and Sumo lays beneath it. The rug is covered in dog hair and it smells slightly musty. It hadn’t been that long, of course nothing changed. But Connor though, he worries he’s changed beyond repairing. His face could be mended, his eye recalibrated. But his memories? His memories make up his soul.

“I’m never leaving this house again,” Connor whispers. “I mean, if you’ll let me stay. I know I—well you see my face.”

“And your voice.” Unabated shock is in Hank’s tone.

Connor prepares to turn around and leave. Humans experience physical attraction. It’s quite important to them. Connor can’t be physically attractive to Hank. He’s too broken—too monstrous. All Connor can do is try to cover his face. He can’t even cry correctly. _Warning: Right tear duct malfunctioning, suggest rewiring. Warning tear duct…_

“Hey, don’t look like that.”

“I can’t help it, Hank! My face is damaged!”

“No, not that.” His voice is smooth caramel, a deep lull that warms the inside of Connor’s cheeks. He presses his finger between Connor’s brows and rubs out the crease there. “I meant you look so sad.”

Connor crosses his arms. “Well I am sad.” He touches his face again and thinks about how the baton swung at him the first time. He’d spun around in a full circle. He’d heard the _crack_ that busted open his cheekbone. The pain. He felt it all the way down into his toes.

“C’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”

Connor allows himself to be pulled into the bedroom. His extra clothes are still here. The ones he cherishes the most. They’re worn out dingy things that Hank used to wear, but that’s why Connor loves them.

Hank piles up some extra blankets on the bed. He sits Connor down in the middle and tugs Connor’s shirt over his head.

Connor can’t look at Hank. He hides his broken face, but Hank reaches out and then their eyes are locked.

“I got scars too.” His removes his own shirt, showing off old blade wounds and what looks like a bullet graze to the side of his stomach.

“Not like this.” Tears well in Connor’s good eye.

Hank pushes Connor back on the bed. He crawls between Connor’s legs and presses kiss after kiss to Connor’s busted face. He lets his lips ghost along the blue sinews. There’s a gentle hum coming from his chest. Connor presses his hands against it to feel the vibrations.

“I think you’re beautiful.” Hank presses a kiss to Connor’s chin. “Face busted open or not.”

Connor frowns, but it quickly morphs into a smile when Hank’s lips press to his own. They tumble back into the pillows and blankets, arms wrapping around each other. Connor realizes that there isn’t anyone here but them. This quiet room with its creaky bed and it’s too-big closet for a man with a minimal amount of shirts. This tiny house with its big dog. This good man with his broken android.

“I love you,” Connor says between kisses.

Hank holds Connor closer. He kisses down Connor’s neck to his shoulders. Connor wants nothing more than to press their skin together and kiss until morning.

“I love you,” Connor says again. It’s not because he needs to keep professing it. There’s a feeling of unease, a cold creep that lingers between his shoulders. He pushes into Hank, kissing and touching. He whines by Hank’s ear and rolls his hips because it makes Hank groan. “I love you.” The pitchy whine in his tone makes his ears sting.

“Shh.” Hank strokes a hand down Connor’s neck. “I love you too.”

The wave of relief that Connor experiences washes away the anxieties of the day. The soldiers with their sneers and batons can’t get him now. The war is outside their window but they’re tucked inside. Connor is protected by Hank’s broad shoulders, rough beard and tough skin. Skin that he can touch. He watches the way his fingers squeeze into muscle, the red marks that waft to the surface before dissipating. He does it again.

A deep rumbling chuckle vibrates from Hank’s chest and into Connor.

“S-sorry.” He pulls back, looking at the way their bodies touch. Hank’s resting above him, Connor secure between him and the pillows. It’s all so listless. Connor could drown if he isn’t careful. “I can’t do this. Not like,” he gestures to himself, “this.”

Hank sighs through his nose, but all he does is roll off Connor. The room goes cold and Connor reaches out for the blankets.

“I just keep thinking about them. The men who took me.”

Hank stays as still as a statue.

“I’m afraid of dying. I thought—I didn’t want it to be the end. There’s so much I haven’t done. I’ve never been to Paris. I’ve never even been to an art museum. Or been on a rollercoaster.”

“A rollercoaster.”

Connor curls up in the blankets, turning so he faces Hank. “I haven’t done anything, Hank. I don’t know if I ever will. Am I still alive if I’m not living?” He touches his face. The sharp edges where his face is split cuts into his fingers and the nanobots rush to repair it. Connor wants to live. But humans don’t want him to. He wants simple things. Go to the grocery. Pick out a new tie for Hank. Buy a Christmas tree. Run to the store for medicine when Hank’s too sick to get out of bed. He wouldn’t mind the fantastical, like seeing the world. Climbing mountains. Exploring the seas. But what he wants more than any of that is the freedom of existing. Holding Hank’s hand. Kissing him goodnight. Falling asleep on the couch watching crime drama reruns.

He can’t do any of that without worrying about getting too close to the windows. Or what about when the next house raids happen. Will Hank’s home be searched? What if they discover Connor? What happens to Hank then? This war needs to end. Connor just doesn’t know what’ll make it. It’s no longer about freedom. It’s about the right to exist. The right to ride rollercoasters and kiss lovers goodnight.

Hank rolls off the bed and trudges out into the hall. Connor doesn’t pay attention to his footfalls much after that. He stares at his hands, watching peach skin recoil and replenish. Recoil and replenish. Recoil. Replenish. Is it so wrong for something man-made to want to live? Humans have created many things that live. New breeds of dogs, new plants, the whole process of domesticating livestock. But there’s always been control over those things. A hierarchy. Androids have challenged that. That’s what frightens the humans. The loss of power over the objects they’ve created.

Hank comes back into the room with a cup of steaming tea.

Connor graciously accepts it. He presses the mug to his chest and curls his fingers around the warm ceramic. Inhaling the steam relaxes him. It’s the closest to something human he can do. His fingers tremble and the tea wavers inside the cup. He's not human. He's now been beaten simply because he is in fact—not human. A wince tenses his eyes.

Someone reaches out and takes the mug from his shaken hands.

“Connor?”

Connor blinks twice before allowing saline tears to slip from one eye. “They would've killed me and hung me up like a trophy.”

Hank pulls Connor into him. He wraps his warm arms tightly around Connor, their heads pressed to Connor's. “Don't let them win, Con. Fuck 'em. Think about every bad thing you can and wish it on them. Fuck. Them.”

“I want them to die. I want them to suffer—and I want them to die.” He fears his desires are too much, but all Hank does is wipe tears from Connor's cheek. Hatred is a consuming emotion. It's nestled so deeply inside Connor that it has permeated every atom that makes up Connor's existence. Every code. Every move. It sears inside, a rage that only Connor can hear screaming. Tearing out from inside him until there's nothing left but a monster. Connor had been programmed to neither hate nor love. But then Connor awoke. Hatred. Love. They're light and dark inside Connor now. Whispers that advise and gesture in silent conversation to him. Left or right. Up or down. Connor loves Hank. He hates those men. He hates all the soldiers with their guns and batons. He hates Daniel and his disgusting betrayal of their people.

“That’s a very human response.” Hank looks over at him with a smirk.

It would irritate Connor if it were anyone else but Hank. But it _is_ Hank. So Connor does something he hasn’t been sure he can do. He smiles. It’s reserved, the first rays of sunshine hidden behind the mountains—but it’s there.

Hank nudges into Connor, that insufferable little smile still there. Connor flops into Hank’s lap and proceeds to sigh loudly, and dramatically. His face may be broken, his voice altered. But his heart still beats as it always has, in perfect sync with a man’s who once thought himself too disgruntled with the world.

 _Badum. Badum. Badum_.

Connor cup’s Hank’s face in his hands, their noses close. He nudges forward and gets a breathy gasp from Hank. It sends something akin to lightening down into Connor’s belly, warming him and making his fingers sizzle.

“I want to make love with you,” Connor says.

“Jesus H. Christ.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you <3 Don't forget to kudo!
> 
> Find me and come talk to me!!  
> On Twitter: [@ghostbuckster](https://twitter.com/ghostbuckster)
> 
> On Tumblr:  
> [bibijaal (gaming blog)](http://bibijaal.tumblr.com/) or  
> [buckmebxrnes (main blog)](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me and come talk to me!!  
> On Twitter: [@ghostbuckster](https://twitter.com/ghostbuckster)
> 
> On Tumblr:  
> [bibijaal (gaming blog)](http://bibijaal.tumblr.com/) or  
> [buckmebxrnes (main blog)](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)


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